


Courtship Rituals

by Muffie



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, NCIS
Genre: Crossover, Episode: s03e07 Honor Code, Episode: s05e22 Not Fade Away, First Time, M/M, Pre-Slash, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 35,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muffie/pseuds/Muffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before going to meet his doom at whatever plan Angel is cooking up to take on the Senior Partners, Spike decides he's going to get a taste of revenge on the Initiative doctor that put the chip in him all those years ago, a doctor that is now a Navy officer in jail awaiting trial in Washington DC. But that's no problem for a resourceful vamp like Spike. The problem is interfering Scoobies in the form of Xander Harris. And the NCIS cops that've been pulled into it. And if a <i>helpful</i> Harris isn't sign enough of an impending apocalypse, Harris is <i>flirting</i>. With Spike. What's a sexy vamp to do? [First Posted: December 17, 2011]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-NFA, but not too much. No spoilers that I can think of for NFA, but some for eps leading up to it. Consider most of Buffy spoiled. Occurs immediately after NCIS's Under Covers. Spoilers for Honor Code. Note: I couldn't find a first name for Dr. Angelman, so I used the actor's first name.

Spike grinned around a mouth full of fangs and dragged his talon-like nails across the bars of the cage, letting them tink merrily along the iron. The man inside jerked awake. Spike chuckled. "Isn't this quite the treat, Doc? The irony, it's a beautiful thing, innit?"

"Oh god." The man scrabbled into the back of his cage, arms and legs flying in his orange jumpsuit. "Oh fucking Christ."

"Not quite, mate. Though I did give up my life to save the world like that old bloke. God-like, ain't I? I can see how'd you'd make the mistake. But I'm much better looking." Spike spread his legs and tilted his head. "How's it feel? You being the caged rat and me out here? Like it?"

The human swallowed convulsively, then forced himself to calm down. "It doesn't matter, Seventeen. You're leashed. Chipped."

"Righty-o, Mengele. Angelman. Wilder. Whatever you're calling yourself now. Care to test it out? Come check the workmanship?" Spike spread his arms. "Feel safe, little man?"

The human licked his lips.

Spike slipped into his human face and affected a pout. "Come now, you're not going to be much fun if you just sit there and wet yourself."

"It's not working."

"Took care of it a year or so ago. Nice piece of work, that. Now, I'm gonna take care of you." Spike's fangs and yellow eyes flashed out.

The human clawed at the cinderblock wall behind him. "Help! Help me!"

Spike chuckled. "Gonna get you all the help you need, Doc. Tomorrow, the best lawyers money can buy are gonna be helping you out. Demons are good for something, eh? Gonna get you off of these charges, Doc. Or get you a reduced sentence. Don't want to see the military execute you for treason. I want to put a spike in your brain meself." He pulled a railroad spike out of a pocket and licked it. "Show you personally how I got my name."

"No."

"No need to thank me, mate. Glad to help out a fellow monster. See you soon." Spike left in a swirl of duster. He quite liked the echo his boots made along the prison hallway.

***

The joint FBI op had just been put to bed. Tony looked like he'd been through a meat grinder. David was making cow eyes at Tony when Tony wasn't looking. That'd probably go away in a few days. If not, there were ways to help that along. A few well placed words to get Tony into obnoxious fratboy mode would have her sneering again. Everyone else appeared normal. Gibbs sipped his coffee and mentally lined up the details in the cold case file he was reading.

Commander Coleman marched, dress right dress like a marine drill instructor with a corn cob up her ass, right up to his desk. He ignored her on general principles. 

"Gibbs," she said.

"I'm busy."

"I don't care."

"Well I do." He wrote a name on the yellow pad next to the file and drew an arrow from it to the victim's sister's name. 

"We've got a problem."

"Yeah, we do. It's you standing in my squad room."

"It's Wilder."

He looked up and frowned. "What? That bastard better not walk."

"A team of expensive lawyers took over his case this morning."

"So? You eat expensive lawyers for breakfast and shit them after lunch."

Her teeth ground together. "Wolfram and Hart. These guys are trouble. But that's not the problem. Wilder's acting weird. Like he doesn't want anything to do with them, but he won't fire them. He does everything but pee on the floor when they're in the room with him. He tried to change his plea to guilty before they showed up this morning, and once when they left him alone. They won't let him. They make him change it back. They're intimidating him somehow and for some reason." She grimaced. "They seem to find it almost funny."

He threw his pen down and leaned back in his chair. "I've never heard of lawyers intimidating their clients into doing the smart thing."

"Something scared the hell out of Wilder last night. There was about thirty minutes of security feed where Wilder appears terrified out of his wits for no reason. No one saw or heard anything during that time period." She tossed a video tape in a sealed bag on his desk. "For your forensics people. Wilder can't afford Wolfram and Hart. Someone obviously thinks he knows something and plans to keep him out of Leavenworth for it."

Gibbs frowned. "We gave you a good case."

She nodded. "Evidence is solid, as usual. That doesn't mean that something isn't going to go wrong. I've done some digging. Ethics aren't something Wolfram and Hart worries too much about. You need to make sure your people are secure. You're the best witnesses I've got."

"You think they'll try to take us out."

"Witnesses in their cases have a tendency to come up missing."

Gibbs scowled. "Not my people."

"It was scheduled to go to trial in three days, but with the new lawyers, motions are being filed right and left. Wilder's got a month. Which is another weird thing. They only asked for a month, usually they ask for six. And they'd get it."

"Have you found out who hired them?"

"No. My office hits the wall at their LA branch. I can't get any deeper than the receptionist, a Miss Harmony Kendall."

"Well, what did she say?"

Coleman shifted uncomfortably and all but snarled at a point on the corner of Gibbs' desk. "She ranted about her shoes and how all men were jerks. Somewhere in all of that she said something about a blondie bear taking care of things. I don't know if it's significant or not. I hope you'll get farther."

Behind her, Tony mouthed the words blondie bear and grinned.

Gibbs nodded. "We'll take care of it."

Tony's job was to get through the receptionist if he could. Expensive lawyers were their own breed of pain in the ass, but Tony should break through them easily enough. David's job was to fetch everything they had on Wilder and then find the lawyers. They'd meet up where ever those bastards were at. Gibbs went straight to the federal jail, McGee in tow. 

At the front of the jail, where visitors entered, were the administrative offices, a small waiting area, and a short hallway that held vending machines and doorways to restrooms. Voices echoed along the short corridor, somewhere between a hiss and a growl in tone without leaving the range of socially acceptable human language.

Gibbs held up his fist when he caught Wilder's name, not surprised when McGee missed the stop signal entirely and ran into him. McGee opened his mouth, Gibbs glared him into silence. He sidled up to the mouth of hallway. McGee looked at his feet, but remained in place, silent and waiting. Excellent.

"How do you plan on stopping us? Staking us? What we're doing is not only perfectly legal, but it's a good deed. Pro bono cases are _altruistic_." Male, with a well-educated voice and no real accent. American. Probably. 

_Staking?_

"Haven't you figured it out yet? With all your evil lawyering and college degree having, I would have thought you'd be more with the brains and less with the stupids." Male as well. Definitely an American in accent. A kid maybe? The voice was older, but.... The kid tutted.

The other guy didn't say anything.

"Bad guys lose. You're all mwa-ha-ha with your big evil plans and then the good guys show up and while you're monologuing, your evil gets all bitch slapped like Pilar."

There was a moment of silence, then: "Pilar? Who in the fuck is Pilar?"

"Pilar Lopez-Fitzgerald. You know Pilar? Rebecca whipped her ass. Don't you people watch TV? You work for Admiral Broodster and I know his bleached brat is running around the place."

Admiral Broodster? A real admiral or just a nickname? Gibbs was leaning toward nickname. McGee started sidling toward him.

The first man sniffed. "We don't waste our time on that junk."

"You should tell Spike that. A lot," the kid said, sounding very amused.

Spike. Not much of a name, but a name. 

The kid chuckled suddenly, as if something significant had happened. "Spike? Ah hah. I didn't think the broody one would give a flying pro a bono."

The other man snorted. "I didn't—"

"Didn't have to, evil lawyer guy. Didn't have to. I can guess what bleach for brains wants with your best new evil buddy. I'm surprised you people didn't try to hire him when you were all come to the dark side of the force, Luke."

"As opposed to what we are now?" The lawyer laughed.

"Getting down on your knees and offering King Broody McBroody a happy so you can get Mr. Leather Pants and Velvet Shirts in charge?"

Gibbs ground his teeth. This conversation made no sense. Silence came out of the hallway.

"Mr. Leather Pants is a monumentally bad idea, by the way. You get him and next thing you know, you'll actually be doing good deeds just to get rid of him instead of faking it with pro bono charity work for last decade's evil," the kid said. "Not that it matters. We keep our eye on Broody O'Broodster. Your new buddy here wants to fire you, you'd better let him. You won't like the consequences."

"He's a piece of scum. Even you have to admit that."

"A piece of scum that's no longer your problem."

The lawyer growled. "We don't have that option."

"See this face? It's my I don't care face."

"See this face? It's my I'm going to file obstruction charges face," a third voice put in smoothly. Feminine, but male. The accent was hard to place, though it sounded American on the surface. It was too sibilant.

"Have fun with that. I'm walking on the Strand with my buddies in London, waving at the cameras right now. Gonna stop off at the chemist's for a little bit of mugwort. What is it you people call it? Shthphthrl's bane?" 

At least it sounded like shthphthrl.

There was silence for a moment, then the first male lawyer said, "The Senior Partners won't—"

"Do a damned thing because they gave you to Deadboy, lock, stock, and evil."

"This is getting us nowhere," the feminine lawyer hissed. "You--"

"Will be telling Deadboy on you."

Deadboy? Gibbs frowned. Another interesting name. More silence, this one stretched while bodies in the corridor shifted around.

The kid chortled. "Doesn't know you're out here, huh?"

"He's far too busy to deal with such minor things."

The kid laughed again. "Don't worry your evil, little heads over it. You toddle back to your evil headquarters and I'll deal with the bleached menace."

The bodies shifted again. "We—"

"No." The kid's voice was hard, like any veteran combat soldier's at a checkpoint. "You go file the paperwork to get yourselves off the case and go back to LA. You better be out of town by sundown."

"Threats?"

The kid didn't reply.

"Fine," the feminine voiced lawyer said. "You deal with Spike."

"I will. You get back to LA."

Gibbs grabbed McGee and headed for the desk. He stopped near the desk, turned to McGee as if to speak, and watched as three suits filed out of the hallway followed by a messy guy in khaki cargo pants and flannel. All of them headed straight for the door and disappeared. 

"McGee, get started on the security feed. I'm on the guy in the flannel. Fill DiNozzo in when he shows up."

McGee nodded. "On it, boss."

Gibbs headed out the door.

The flannel guy was waiting outside, leaning against the wall and sucking on a piece of beef jerky. The suits were in the middle of climbing into a rented Lexus. The kid, because the guy in the flannel was undoubtedly who belonged to the voice of the kid, alternated between watching the suits and Gibbs. Gibbs wandered over to the car and grabbed a file from the back seat. The kid looked amused, or as amused as someone can look with an eye patch and a piece of beef jerky hanging out of his mouth can look. Gibbs called McGee.

"Boss?"

"Can you see the front of the building with security cameras?"

"Uh, yeah boss."

"Five meters east of the front doors is our guy. Keep an eye on him." Gibbs slammed the car door and headed back into the building. 

"I got him boss. He's the guy with the eye patch?"

"That's the one." The guy waved as Gibbs passed. Gibbs ignored him and went inside. "Keep watching him. I want to know what car he gets into. I want a plate."

"Gotcha, boss."

Gibbs hung up on McGee and dialed Tony. He cut Tony off before he could wind himself into a really good kiss up session. "Forget the lawyers and get down to the jail now."

"I got a name out of the receptionist. She wants to meet if we ever get out to LA. He goes by—"

"Spike. Get your ass down here. Now."

"How di—"

Gibbs hung up before he had to put up with any more crap. The desk sergeant looked up and scowled, then took him back to the security room where McGee was typing at a laptop hooked up to a security feed.

"Hey Boss. He got into a sedan. I'm trying to isolate a plate now. He stopped off at your car first and put something on the windshield. Wait, there!" The computer screen digitized a blurry license plate into something clearer.

"Run that and put out a BOLO. I'll check out the car and meet DiNozzo. Then we'll talk to Wilder."

"On it, Boss," McGee said.

Gibbs headed for the car. Under the driver's windshield wiper was a thin piece of paper. He got an evidence bag from the trunk and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He unfolded the paper, and squinted at it. The penmanship was awful, worse than the average marine recruit's on the first day of boot camp. _Ivy Hill O 106_. Nothing else on the paper, which appeared to have been torn off of a gas station's pay at the pump receipt. There was no other marking on the paper. He kept it unfolded and slipped it into the evidence bag with the words facing the clear side. He sealed the bag and signed it.

Tony pulled up and rolled down his window. "Find something?"

"Ivy Hill, O, 106. Mean anything to you, DiNozzo?"

"Uh, no."

"You got five minutes to make it mean something."

Tony whipped out his cell phone and dialed. Probably Abby. "Hey, Abs. Does Ivy Hill, O, 106 mean anything to you? Yeah, O as in Orleans."

Gibbs smiled to himself and made his way back into the building.

***

Xander followed his handy dandy, little, Spike-tracking amulet to the Marriott. He shouldn't have been surprised. It was only a mile from the jail. Spike could walk there before he huffed his way through a cigarette. He went into the parking garage and parked halfway up. He swapped the stolen plates out with the car's real plates and tossed the stolen ones into the trunk. His nice, millions just like 'em on the road rental now had no legal resemblance to the one he'd parked at the jail. Just the way he liked it. Okay, maybe he didn't like it so much because stealing license plates, even from the long term parking lot at the airport and he was gonna replace them, was not cool, but you couldn't be too careful when you had to deal with cops who weren't from Sunnydale. And he'd read it in one of Buffy's romance novels with a serial killer in it. He never knew romance novels had serial killers in them. But it kind of made sense since Buffy kept hooking up with them. Not that Buffy had bad taste in men, they just turned out to, okay, time to stop the train wreck. At least her new guy was normal, even if he never aged. He and Ra's al-Ghul could hang out together at the end of the Earth.

He got himself a room under the name William Giles, just to annoy both Spike and Giles, then took the elevator to the floor the amulet liked the most. Top floor. Figured. He went to the appropriate door and banged on it. "Hey, Spike! Dawn's been kidnapped!"

The door flew open and Mr. Sleepyvamp's head stuck out.

"Seriously. Buffy made her play hooky from Cambridge and took her shoe shopping. We thought about sending a team after her, but we figured they'd just get sucked into the shoe shopping abduction, too." 

Spike vamped out.

Xander hung his index fingers from his lips and pretended to vamp out.

"I could just eat you, Harris."

Xander grinned. "Only in the sexy way, please."

Hey, even vamp eyes could bug out. The eyes narrowed a bit and the vamp bumpies melted into regular human looking Spikeness. Spike heaved one of those why me sighs and rubbed his hand through his hair. He opened the door wider. "Might as well come in, boy."

Xander slipped his cell phone out and took a picture. Well, most of a picture because Spike was butt nekkid and he thought it might be best to only put the top half in the shot.

"What the bloody hell?"

"Hang on." He pushed a few buttons and texted it to Dawn, Buffy, and Willow. He stuck his phone back in his pocket. "Okay."

"What did you just do?" Vamp face was back. If he was the kind of guy to be intimidated by vamp face, Spike would be intimidating, even with all his man junk whipping the breeze. And what lovely man junk it was, too. 

"Just letting the rest of the Scoobies see that you're unalive and well. Knowing's just not as good as seeing, you know?" Xander bounced into the room, getting just the right amount of bounce for annoyance factor by thinking of Willow on espresso. "We've all missed you so much."

"Nevermind could. I _am_ going to eat you. Saves getting take away." Spike stalked to a table near the thick drapes held shut with pieces of duct tape and snatched up a pack of cigarettes.

"Is it so hard to believe that we care about you?"

Spike paused, a cigarette halfway to his mouth. "Right. You care so much you send off piccies of me starkers." He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and sneered. He did it so well. "Cheers."

Xander flopped onto the couch, which was way cool. He bet his room didn't have a couch. "But you look so yummy. Besides. I only sent off the top part. Wouldn't want the Big Bad's Big Bad to start a riot at the shops. Everybody'd want you and I can't have that."

Spike flicked his Zippo, but didn't light the cigarette. "You flirting with me, Harris?"

"I'm going with my subtle technique. How am I doing?"

"Christ." Spike dropped into a chair and slapped both the cigarette and lighter onto the table next to him. He very considerately kept his knees spread.

Xander grinned. "Show off."

"Those of us that got it keep those of you that want it in wank material."

Xander nodded agreeably.

Spike stared at him.

Xander admired the view.

Spike twirled the lighter on the tabletop.

Xander started thinking of that picture he found of Giles in a dress to make sure that his admiration of the view didn't get too visible.

Spike started fidgeting. "Bloody hell. What are you here for? Can't say it's my hot body."

"Wouldn't mind that, but well, only partially." Xander sat forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. "Riley called us up and let us know about that doctor. Soon as he came up on their radar. Not soon enough."

"What'd you do, boy?" And there went the view.

"I sent your pack of lawyers home. You're going to have to leave him be, Spike."

It was quiet for a moment, then Spike exploded to his feet. "What the soddin' hell do you think you're doing? Swooping in to save the day like some ridiculous _knight_? The tosser's not worth it! He's not just a butcher, he's a traitor. They're like to kill him anyway."

Xander opened his mouth.

Spike's glare didn't make him not say anything, but the harsh breathing did. "You interfering, little git. I thought you'd understand. Of all you lot."

"Spike, it's not like that. You think _they_ will ever _stop_ watching him? I mean ever?"

Spike took a final, shuddering breath, and was still.

"He's a traitor. You were only going to get yourself in trouble. With more military wanker people. Only this time, not so much with the easily intimidated like Riley and more with like the whole damned thing. Cause the Secretary of the Navy is keeping an eye on this guy. Though, I don't know why the Navy's secretary is such a big threat. Buy her a latte and take her shoe shopping or something."

Spike wrinkled his nose ala annoyed Buffy and flopped back into the chair. "'M going to me final death again in a day or so anyway. Might as well get some revenge first. Thanks ever so for trying to spoil it."

Xander frowned. "Final death? What the—? You're not allowed! I just got you back! I mean we just got you back!"

"The workings of apocalypses don't care about your little sidekick sensitivities, now do they?"

"What's going on?"

Spike shrugged. "Dunno. Soddin' Poof's workin' on some plot or some such with them soddin' lawyers." Spike snorted and picked up the cigarette. "'Spect the soddin' Watcher has the soddin' right of it. Stay away from Angelus before he gets you lot killed off."

"Could you say sodding any more in that sentence?" Xander frowned and scratched his belly. "I've seen Law & Order. They wouldn't get the doc out of jail before that."

Spike smirked. "Sure they would. Get him out of jail to the courthouse and then back again, wouldn't they now?"

"Sneaky. Very _Time to Kill_."

"Couldn't make it last, but a few hours of playing in his entrails would make me feel right cheerful, it would. Then I'd be off to LA and my certain doom."

"I say ixnay on the ertainsay oomsday." 

"Love to, mate, but I'm not leaving them to die by themselves."

"So, we make sure it's not doomsday," Xander said. "Angel's plans all suck anyway, so we just come up with a better one and no doom necessary. So what's the apocalypse, anyway?"

"If you were a frustrated twat that didn't get to save the world for puppies and ponces because Buffy made you run away to LA, what would you do?" Spike put his cigarette down and spread his arms, showing off those lovely abs. "Especially if I got to save everything from the First in your place when you just knew it was your destiny and all that rot?"

"Uh, knowing Angel? Find my own version of the First to take on so I could show off my broody hunkiness to everyone."

Spike smirked. "Got it in one, Xan."

"You mean he went out and actually dug up a First Evil to fight with? How lame is that?"

"The lawyer gits, you tit. Not the First so much, but bad enough. He plans on taking out the head lawyers. Since they're demons about as old as the world, living in other dimensions, he's taking a bite out of a bull elephant's neck."

"So that's what you mean by him getting you killed."

Spike shrugged. "Angelus is right, though. Rip out your tongue if you ever repeat that. They have to be stopped."

"Okay. I'll help."

Spike shook his head and pointed a finger at Xander. "No, you'll trot back to Jolly Ol' where you'll be safe and take care of the Bit and the Slayer."

"I'm going to help you and Angel and everyone."

Spike sneered. "And how do you think you can do that, Polyphemus? Trip over files?"

Xander rolled his eye. "Angel's big plan to defeat you was to give me to you as a snack. You can see me not feeling the Angel confidence here."

Spike blinked. "He is something of an idiot at times. I blame the soul."

"I blame the woe is me-ing thing he does. I'll be there, helping, whether you like it or not. And I can be a lot of help, too. I swing a mean axe."

Spike deflated in the chair. "I don't want you getting hurt."

"I don't want anyone getting hurt." Xander sighed. "Look, want me to call Faith? She's in Cleveland. She can be there with a bunch of slayers in like, twelve hours. And she knows Angel and everything. Could kick some sense into his broody ass."

Spike lifted an eyebrow. "Might work, that."

Xander tapped his temple. "Hey, I'm smart. I know how to plan. Never send in a man to do a woman's job."

Spike laughed.

Xander smiled.

"Still getting that doc."

Xander's smile turned wicked. "I'm taking some steps to make sure he gets at least some kind of punishment. Even if it is just jail."

Spike arched a brow.

"I checked out these Navy cops that are on his back and the JAG lady that's doing his case. The cops are good and the JAG lady makes Darla look like Betty Crocker. Which, hey, don't turn her. Seriously. She's an apocalypse in the making. Anyway. I think they can take on whoever was behind the Initiative even if it's one of those big government conspiracies, you know dig deep into the past and punish accordingly, and I definitely think they can make sure the doc gets locked up and they throw away the key." Xander tilted his head. "Besides, ol' Doc has a reason to cooperate with 'em now, don't he?"

Spike smirked. "So your brilliant plan is to what?"

"Feed 'em enough info to get 'em to keep the guy out of the Initiative's clutches." Xander frowned, vaguely remembering the memory of memories from the soldier he'd been for a few hours. "Maybe get the Initiative people worried enough and they'll just kill him."

Spike snorted and lit up the cigarette. He took a deep drag and blew it out. "Not Maggie Walsh's happy little Igor. They'll keep him alive because they might want to use him again. Never know when the military might need another Frankenstein's monster and the doc's the only tame evil scientist what can make one." Spike barked a single laugh. "Peaches' fancy lawyers always good for digging up dirt on the evil."

"At least he'll be in jail where we can keep an eye on him and the Initiative has to stay away from him, instead of running around being a happy monster maker, right?"

"Right. 'Cause that's ever so much better than dead with railroad spikes through his eyes."

"Which would, in no way, make anyone at all suspicious of you." Xander could do sarcasm just as well as Spike could.

"Won't matter."

"Will, too. Gonna get Faith to kick lawyer ass, and then maybe Deadboy's for bad planning. You'll be around for a really long time showing everyone what being the Big Bad is all about."

"Can't really blame Peaches, now can you? What with Rupes shutting us out and calling us no better than the lawyers of evil and all that. How was he to know he could get help from you lot?"

Xander frowned. "So no kicking of Angel's ass?"

"No arse kicking. You gonna call the chit or you gonna ogle my bits all day?"

"And such lovely bits they are, too. If you're courting me, you're doing a great job." Xander grinned at Spike's shocked face. He noticed that Spike didn't look like the courting thing was wrong, and, more importantly, he just tossed a two fingered salute and kept his legs spread. Oh so lovely. "Anyway, I'm a multitasker. I'll do both since you're indulging me." He grinned as wickedly as he knew how. "You do have one hell of a courtship ritual!"


	2. Chapter Two

The plates belonged to a mid-level bureaucrat in the USDA who was spending a few weeks touring Mexico's farm fields to look for DDT or salmonella or something. The guy's girlfriend said his car was in the long term lot, and yes it was a silver colored sedan.

"So our boy is with farmers in Mexico. Great." McGee said. Sarcasm wasn't working for him.

Tony looked like he wanted to hit something. "Twenty bucks says the airport rent-a-cops will find a silver sedan without plates."

Gibbs fingered the plastic evidence bag. "DiNozzo, with me. McGee, you call DiNozzo the second Abby gets anything on Ivy Hill."

"Gotcha, Boss."

Gibbs left McGee and his computers set up in the jail's break room. Tony trailed in his wake. The prison guard assigned to them rolled his eyes, popped his gum, and led them to the small room where Wilder had been cooling his heels for the past hour. It's where he'd been meeting the lawyers. Gibbs sat down in a chair opposite the man while Tony stood in the spot to his left, arms folded across his chest. He probably thought it made him look bigger and more intimidating. It might have, if Wilder ever looked away from the table.

"Tell me about the lawyers," Gibbs instructed.

Wilder started. His eyes flicked from Tony to Gibbs, then back to the table. He was nothing like the cool, confident commander they'd arrested months ago.

"The lawyers!" Gibbs barked.

Wilder jerked, almost fell out of the chair, then resettled himself. He stared at the security camera, then at the table. "They're lawyers. They represent you at trials."

"Who hired them for you?"

Wilder flinched. 

"I said, _who_ hired them?"

"I did." Wilder was lying.

"The truth."

"I did!"

Tony snorted. "You can't afford Wolfram and Hart."

Wilder glared at Tony, something like an oil slick flickering through his eyes for a moment. "You don't know anything about it. They work pro bono cases."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "Why you? You're not the kind of person lawyers give charity to."

Tony's phone chirped. "DiNozzo."

Wilder frowned.

Gibbs slammed his fist on the table. "Why you?"

"I don't know. They like a challenging case? They don't think I did it?" Wilder's eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them.

Gibbs stared at him.

Tony said, "Thanks, Abs." The phone clicked and slid into a pocket. Tony leaned over and whispered, "Ivy Hill is a cemetery and the O 106 is a grave location for a Jack Angelman, died May 16, 2000."

Wilder twitched, like a rabbit trying to hold itself still in tall grass with a hawk flying overhead.

Tony stood up and gave Wilder a smarmy glare.

Gibbs put his fists on the table, in plain sight. "Does the name Jack Angelman mean anything to you?"

Wilder paled, but shook his head. "No."

"You're lying and I want to know why."

Wilder's eyes flicked to the security camera, then back to Gibbs' face. "I don't know anything. _Please_."

"How about the name Spike? The one who hired Wolfram and Hart for you."

Wilder jumped up. "Look, get Coleman here. Whatever. I'll plead guilty. I'll even waive parole or whatever. Just—" He shook his head, like a wet dog might, and backed to the door leading toward the cells. 

Gibbs leaned back in the chair. "Who is Spike?"

Wilder pounded on the door. "I want to go back to my cell!"

"Why would Spike hire Wolfram and Hart for you?"

Wilder hit the door with his fist a few more times. "Guard!"

"Why didn't you fire them if you didn't want them?"

Wilder sank to the floor. "Guard!"

Gibbs stood up, the chair's legs shrieking against the dull, tile floor. "Who is Spike?"

Wilder started to cry.

Gibbs stared at him for a moment, then walked out of the room. He could hear Tony moving over to Wilder and squatting down. "Now that's just sad, a grown man getting snot all over himself like that? What'll all the boys down in the cells say when they see you? C'mon."

"DiNozzo!"

He could hear Tony stand up. "Well, sleep tight tonight, Wilder. Don't let the bed bugs bite."

Wilder whimpered.

Tony came out, shaking his head. "I think you broke him too fast, Boss."

Gibbs glowered at the floor and stomped to the break room. "I didn't break him. Someone else did it before we got here. I want to know what's on that missing 30 minutes of security tape." He passed the guard assigned to them. "We're done with Wilder now. Put him on a suicide watch."

The guard frowned. "You can't—"

"The man's losing it in there," Tony said. "Do it."

Gibbs ignored them in favor of McGee. "Anything?"

"We're trying to build the background on Angelman now, but it's not coming along. We're running into a brick wall at the Pentagon." McGee looked up from the computer, like a cross between a boy caught in the cookie jar and a recruit that couldn't do the last pushup. "I need to get back to the lab and help Abby."

Gibbs nodded. "We're going back to the Yard."

Gibbs left Tony chasing his tail at his desk and led McGee down to the lab. Abby was bent over a tray of test tubes, watching for something or other. On the plasma, the computer was running the face of the kid through some database. The eye patch had been removed and a computer generated eye stuck in its place.

"Gibbs!" Abby bounded over to him. "You're back!"

"What've you got?"

"Tim sent me a picture of the guy you're looking for and I'm running it through a bunch of databases, like VICAP, AAFIS, and stuff. Don't know if it'll do any good, but we can try. I'm just about done testing the fabric from the Scarpetti case. I think I've got it narrowed down to ketchup."

"Find this guy. McGee, help."

Abby looked up at the screen and smirked. "I can see why you want him. He's a cutie."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and headed back up to the squad room. He ran over Tony when the elevator doors opened. Barely saved his coffee.

"Sorry, Boss. Just coming to see you." Tony didn't have the grace to look sheepish. "Got the head of the LA branch of Wolfram and Hart on the line for you."

Gibbs eyebrows went up.

Tony smirked. "His name's Angel. Just Angel. Like Madonna or Cher. He sounds like a stripper."

"Or Angelman."

Tony followed him to his desk and watched him sit. He glared at Tony until he retreated to his own desk and pretended to be working instead of eavesdropping. Gibbs picked up his handset, punched the button under the blinking light, and barked, "Gibbs."

"Agent Gibbs, my name is Angel. I'm in charge of the Los Angeles branch of Wolfram and Hart. I understand that a team of my lawyers has recently begun working on a case that you and your people closed."

Gibbs leaned back in his chair. He didn't like the smooth voice or the Hollywood name. "What do you want?"

There was a moment of silence, then this Mr. Angel said, "A blunt man. Tell me about Wilder."

"First, I'd like to hear about Spike."

There was more dead silence, not even breathing. "Spike? I don't—"

"Cut the bullshit. Spike hired your goons to get Wilder off. I want to know why." Gibbs could have sworn he heard a mumbled, so would I, but he didn't say anything.

"I have no idea why my...son...has any interest in Wilder. That's why I'm calling you. We don't take JAG cases."

"Spike is your...son." 

"He's an annoying child, but you don't always choose family."

"How did Spike hear about Wilder?"

"I don't know. I was hoping you had more information."

Gibbs refrained from laughing in the man's ear, but only just. What kind of lawyer was he? He didn't know what his people or his kid—if that's what this Spike actually was—were doing, and he didn't know enough not to call the people on the other side, the people with the prosecution, to pump them for basic information that they should have in their files. Hadn't the man heard of discovery? "Does the name Angelman mean anything to you?"

" _Angelman_?" Some cat or dog near this Angel character growled. "I see. Thank you, Agent Gibbs. You've—"

"There's another player." Gibbs cut the hang-up festivities off before they could get started. "Sent your lawyer team packing with their tails between their legs. Didn't even break a sweat."

"Who?" Angel sounded apprehensive and tight, like a cat digging its claws in before defending itself. 

"We're hoping you can help us out with that." Gibbs snagged a pen. "He's—"

"He? Not a girl?" There was relief in the voice.

"Why would you think it's a girl?"

"Sp—my son has girl problems. When someone around him is run out of town, it's usually a girl that does it."

 _Sp—my son_. Interesting. Gibbs tapped the pen against a piece of paper. "The man in question is approximately five-eleven, 190 pounds. Brown hair, brown eyes, wears an eye patch over his left eye."

"Harris." Angel spat that name out as if it had the plague. "Son of a bitch. He's there and hooked up with Spike? What was Rupert thinking? Thank you, Agent Gibbs. Though Harris was no doubt, um, undiplomatic about removing my team from the case, Wolfram and Hart do not and will not represent Wilder. He will have to find other counsel."

Rupert. Another name, this one sounded very British. Gibbs leaned back in his chair. "Where could I find Harris?"

"He likes pizza and donuts." Angel said. "Have a good afternoon."

"What—"

The bastard hung up.

Gibbs frowned for a moment, then called the lab. "McGee, the kid's name is Harris."

"Harris? How—"

"You find anything yet?"

"No, boss. Still looking. That will help."

Gibbs hung up before McGee could start describing how that would help. The last thing he needed was a breakdown of computer terminology. He dialed Coleman.

"Jethro." The director fluttered to a stop in front of him, with a bee up her skirt about something. 

He held up a finger. "Commander Coleman," he told the duty body on the other end of the line.

Sheppard pushed the hang-up button on his phone. "MTAC, now."

He didn't move. "What's this about?"

"Wilder."

What in the hell was it with Wilder? The man was quietly sitting in jail for months, awaiting trail, then all of the sudden he's on everyone's dance card.

Some clean-cut, army boy with covered-up patches was sitting in a blank office looking unhappy on the screen. Not even a rank insignia. The grunt frowned around at the people in MTAC. "Clear the room, please."

The Director glared at the screen, then nodded. Everyone filed out.

"Including you, Director," the grunt said.

"I will not. This concerns my agency, this concerns me."

The grunt settled back and stared at her for a few moments, not the least bit perturbed. "We can do this the easy way, right here, right now. Or we can do this the hard way and Agent Gibbs can disappear some night."

Gibbs eyebrows went up. 

Sheppard bristled. "I don't take threats against my people and I don't take orders."

The grunt shrugged and reached forward, supposedly for a kill switch. "Have it your way."

"Wait just a goddamned minute," Gibbs said.

The grunt paused.

"You," Gibbs pointed to the grunt on the screen. "Tell me what the hell is going on. Now."

The grunt lifted his eyebrows. "This is about some classified information that no one at NCIS is cleared for." The grunt frowned at Sheppard. "I'm extending a professional courtesy talking to you through a feed, rather than just having you picked up and interrogated. I've already got the warrant."

Sheppard opened her mouth. 

Gibbs tapped the side of his coffee cup with his finger and considered the earnest looking face of the grunt. Opportunity knocked. "Fine. Director, please leave."

"But—"

Gibbs glared at her. "Director."

Sheppard returned the glare. "This isn't over."

Gibbs didn't say anything. Neither did the grunt. Sheppard walked out and slammed the door. Gibbs took a sip with his coffee cup.

"You're clear, Rye," an off screen male said. "NCIS's MTAC is clean."

The grunt grunted. "Why are you running a search on Angelman?"

Gibbs lifted his eyebrows. "The name came up during our investigation."

Fresh faced, like some farm boy, the grunt might have been, but he was no fool apparently. "This isn't a conversation. Talk or the team I have standing by to enter NCIS headquarters right now will serve you and your people warrants. I will have you in custody." The grunt leaned forward. "You're not a stupid man, marine. You know what happens when we start questioning people about classified information."

Gibbs knew. He knew he didn't like it. "You know Wolfram and Hart?"

The grunt frowned. "Which branch?"

"LA."

The grunt tried to keep a sucking lemons expression off of his face. It didn't work. "What about them?"

"They took over as Wilder's legal representation. Gave Wilder the creeps, but he wouldn't fire them. Tried to change his plea."

"Angel wouldn't do that."

Gibbs sipped his coffee. The grunt was on a first name basis with the Hollywood lawyer. And not that good at the covert ops stuff. "Angel didn't. Someone named Spike did, without permission."

He'd seen a deer hit by a motorcycle once. It had gotten up, shaken itself, and tottered drunkenly off into the bushes. The grunt looked like that deer. " _Spike_? He's dead!"

Gibbs digested that behind another sip of coffee. "Someone named Harris got rid of the lawyers before Angel called them off."

The grunt didn't say anything, but the tightness around the eyes said Gibbs had scored a hit.

Gibbs put on his most bland expression. "Why would Spike get an expensive set of legal thugs to get Wilder off? A guy who was apparently buried in Ivy Hill, section O, plot 106?"

The grunt's eyes widened just enough to confirm. Bingo.

Gibbs hid his smile behind his coffee cup. "Who was Angelman? Why'd you hide him as Wilder?"

"Where's Harris now?"

"He gave me Angelman's current _address_ then fell off the grid." Gibbs made sure the quotation marks around the word address were clearly audible in his voice.

The grunt ground his teeth for a few moments. "If you find Harris, don't hold him. If you come across Spike, keep your distance. He's extremely dangerous and," an expression of extreme distaste crossed the grunt's features, "a national security asset. Notify us immediately and we'll deal with the situation. Angelman is no longer your concern. Quit hunting him."

Gibbs crossed his arms, careful of his coffee cup, and tilted his head. "I don't care about Angelman. Wilder stole the most powerful cryptographic program our nation has with the intention of selling it the highest bidder, probably China or Iran, when we caught him. He's a traitor. He may think he's getting off, but he's going down for it. If your _Angelman_ shit interferes with that, there's no classified mission you can hide behind. I will find you."

The grunt all but sneered. "JAG's case is solid enough to put him in Leavenworth for a while."

"It's good enough for life without parole."

"You've got Wilder dead to rights. You have no reason to investigate Angelman, Gibbs. Take my advice. Drop it." The grunt turned his head and the screen went blank.

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee and contemplated the color bars on the big screen. Drop Angelman. Right. Time to find this Spike. He pivoted on a heel and marched out of MTAC.

Tony bounced out of his seat and all but saluted. With his chest puffed up, just that much, a grin on his face, and just enough vibration around his shoulders that said he'd rather be jumping around like a kid, Tony looked like a Golden Retriever puppy wiggling on the floor, all but yapping, _Look at me, boss! Look at me! I did good! I did good! Look! Look! Look!_

Tony said, "Hey, boss."

McGee sank into his chair and glowered.

Tony's grin widened. "Old fashioned police work wins again! Put it on the plasma, Padawan Probie."

Harris's car went on the screen.

"See, boss, I noticed that little sticker there. Not a dealer sticker. I had McPhotoshop blow it up and found out it was Enterprise's car. I called the airport because, guess where we found the plates? The airport. Turns out they have a little fleet of these babies. Thirty-two of them are currently rented out to people all over the area. One of them was rented to a nice young man with an eye patch that does a mean John Wayne in Rooster Cogburn impersonation." Tony looked at him and frowned. "You have to have seen Rooster Cogburn. Hepburn, Wayne, out on the trail finding—"

"The car, DiNozzo."

"Right. So, I got the plate of the one rented to Harris Wayne and the BOLO turned up in ten minutes. It's parked in Marriot's garage, third level right now. That'd be the Marriot less than a mile from the jail. The main desk confirmed that a man wearing an eye patch, who did a cute, but bad Captain Jack Sparrow impression, checked in under the name William Giles."

"Good work, le—"

"But that's not all!" Tony said in his best TV pitchman voice. "Just on the off-chance, call it a hunch," Tony gave a little moue of attempted humility, "the genius of good policework, Probie, so pay attention."

Gibbs lifted his eyebrows.

Tony cleared his throat and put on his serious face. 

Gibbs hid a smile behind a sip of coffee.

Tony frowned at a piece of paper, one of those dramatic things he did for appearances. "It turns out that a Mr. Rupert Giles checked into that very Marriot a few nights ago. The clerk on the three to eleven shift remembers him clearly. Looks like Billy Idol with cheekbones and eyes to die for." Tony glared at McGee. "Like I don't have cheekbones and eyes to die for?"

It was time to metaphorically wiggled his Golden Retriever's leash to bring him back on task. He sharpened his voice. "DiNozzo." 

"Mr. Rupert 'Just call me Spike, luv' Giles. Our mysterious Spike could be the guy in the Presidential Suite at the Marriot."

"Good work. McGee, get David back from Ivy Hill. Stop looking for Angelman, for now. DiNozzo, you're with me."

"Not just yet, Jethro. My office. Now." Sheppard pushed away from the metal railing on the open stairs just above their work center. 

Tony gave him a sympathetic look. Gibbs scowled and followed Sheppard to her office. She slammed the door behind him. "What in the hell is going on?"

"Wilder," he said.

She crossed to her desk and sat in her chair. "What _about_ Wilder?" So she'd read up on the case.

He crossed his arms and kept his face neutral. "Someone visited him in his cell, wiped out the security footage. The next morning, a team of hot shot, expensive lawyers from LA showed up to represent him. Coleman dropped by. I went to investigate. Someone beat me to the lawyers and they no longer work for Wilder. This someone gave me a clue that led to the name Angelman. The black ops boys called me up and told me to drop it."

She glared at her desk. "You're not planning on dropping it."

"I don't like being dicked around."

"Is Wilder going to get off?"

"Don't think so. He's begging to plead guilty now. Black ops boys think the case is solid. Coleman thinks the case is solid. The expensive lawyers went back to LA. Got a call from their boss personally telling me they were no longer involved."

"So Wilder's going to trial and you have a name some people don't want you to know." She steepled her fingers and leaned back in her chair, a small cat-with-a-mouse smile quirking her lips. He really hated that smile. "What does your famous gut tell you, Jethro?"

"Someone's covering something up and Wilder's part of it."

"And you want to know what." She tilted her head. "How do you plan to find out? You can't go through channels."

"I know where the man who gave up the name is right now. I'm going to ask him."

She nodded. "Ask him. You don't compromise our people and you don't compromise Coleman's case."


	3. Chapter Three

"Faith's gonna be in LA by morning. She's gonna have about 50 slayers there within 24 hours. She's also gonna make Angel call Buffy straight out and tell her everything that's going on. Kind of skip out on Giles altogether. Faith is gonna tell Giles what's going on. Giles is going to probably break his glasses, drink some tea, and try to kick my butt when he figures it out." Xander gave his best puppy dog eyes to Spike. "You'll protect me from mean ol' Watcher wrath, won't you?"

Spike snorted, wrapped a towel around his hips, and sat on the bed. "I had him right in my bloody fingers, Harris."

Xander sighed and dropped onto the bed next to him. "Spike. . . ."

"No! He was in my hands. A few days and. . . ." Spike twisted his fingers definitively.

Xander nudged Spike with his elbow. "And Hostile 17 would be on _their_ radar again. You _know_ that."

Spike sneered. "Don't care, eh? They can just raise the little tit again."

"Well I do care because they need to keep their grubby mitts off of you." Xander frowned. "Wait. What? _Raise_?"

"You were there in the secret base. You know." Spike flung a hand in the general direction of the setting sun. Toward California. His towel slipped a bit, revealing a lot more of those pretty abs.

Xander forced himself to look at Spike's face. "Uh, I was in a room doing a spell the whole time. Remember?"

"Adam killed Angelman and Walsh. Had them done up like clockwork dolls with tubes and such running through their bodies. They were stitched up and mechanical. Might've been a cross between a machine and a zombie or some sort of whatnot. Frankenstein's Monster made his own little Frankenstein's monsters." Spike shrugged his shoulders, almost turning them inward in a way that always made Xander want to hug the girls when they did it. "Disgusting and perverse, it was. Wrong. Like Adam hisself. Wolfram and Hart's lawyers dug 'round a bit. Found the place where the government was holding that chaos bloke of Rupert's. Ethan Rayne. The Initiative had Rayne bring Angelman back. Walsh was too far gone or too out of control and Angelman knew enough of what she was doing to duplicate her work if they wanted it. They gave him a new identity, gave him a posh job in the Navy. Left me with that bit of hardware in me head." 

"Wait. Wait. Ethan Rayne resurrected this guy? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Yeah."

"No way. He'd never do it, for one, cause he's not that dumb, and for two, you need the Urn of Osiris to do it right and Willow got it from this Shirley MacClaine clone who had it in her attic for a decade. Willow still had it until Sunnydale went poof and now it's at the bottom of the crater."

Spike twisted and glared at Xander, fangs flashing. "I was in the jail, boy. I smelled Angelman."

"So whatever's in that jail's a damned good copy." Xander yanked his cellphone out of his pocket and pressed the speed dial for Giles. "And Ethan's been using it for years."

"It's human," Spike said. "Vampire nose, mate."

"Xander?" Giles said in his ear. "I hear Spike. Is there a problem?"

"Yeah, sorry to bother you, Giles." Xander flapped a hand in Spike's face to shut him up. The expression on Spike's face was kind of like a bulldog that got unexpectedly smacked on the nose with a fish. "Spike just informed me that the guy in jail, Angelman, was killed by Adam."

"Then who is in the jail cell?"

"Spike says the lawyers think Ethan Rayne resurrected him for the Initiative, be we all know how that isn't the way it happened."

There was silence on Giles' end of the phone. Well, probably the sounds of glasses polishing, but Xander couldn't hear it over the sound of Spike glaring in his face. It was way sexy. Xander licked his lips and curled his hand around the back of Spike's neck so he could rhythmically run his fingers through the short hair there. It was miraculously ungelled and soft. He could get used to this. "Spike thinks Ethan raised him because he smells just like Angelman."

"No," Giles eventually stated flatly. "Ethan wouldn't raise the dead. He wouldn't risk himself for it no matter what the inducement. I suspect he managed a golem or, if he had the materials available, an homunculus. Such a creature could have the memories of whomever Ethan fashioned it after and would appear human enough to fool a vampire. At least until Spike bit into it. Ethan could cause no end of trouble with an homunculus. Quite less with a golem. Its capacity to pass itself off as an individual is rather diminished."

The pinched, British, snotty, ticked off look was in the process of shifting off of Spike's face. Xander couldn't really place what was coming on in its place. Contemplative? Like one of those philosophical people with anger issues that think they know everything?

"Xander?" Giles said.

Xander focused himself back on the conversation. "So this thing is either a golem or a homunculus. Could it be anything else? Some kind of demon that Ethan bribed?"

"Hm. There may be a few species he could sway to such a purpose."

"How do we find out?"

"If it's an homunculus, its hair will burn with black flame as the thing has no true life. A golem's hair will turn to ash, as normal; however, it won't know how to deal with situations it hasn't been taught to handle. Expose it to something new."

"Like jail?"

"Precisely."

"I think we can rule out golem." Xander flopped onto his back, his eye half closing in thought. "That leaves the homunculus or a demon. It shouldn't be a problem to get to it. Spike broke in pretty easy the other night. We'll just do it again tonight."

Spike twisted himself to curve a bit over Xander, propped himself up on a hand, and licked his lips. Xander watched the tongue trace its way across those lips for a few seconds before forcing his attention back to Giles.

"If it's a demon," Giles began.

"Relax, G-man." Xander grinned. "If it's a demon, it'll give itself up in some way. They always do."

"'S not a demon," Spike said. He relaxed, half sprawling on top of Xander. "He was terrified of me the way a human is. Thought it was Angelman."

"Huh. Spike said—"

"I heard. Test the homunculus theory. It wouldn't be that difficult for Ethan to create one under the guise of raising the dead. Ring me when you've got information. I'll do some research on my end to see what that bastard is after."

Xander nodded. Even though Giles couldn't see him, it was the thought that counted. "Yeah. I'll have to call Riley up or something. See if we can figure out what Ethan was doing to screw with the Navy."

Spike's eyes unfocused. "We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep. We rise; one wandering thought pollutes the day. We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep, Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away; It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow, The path of its departure still is free. Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow. Nought may endure but mutability!" Yellow eyes focused on Xander's face. 

Xander smiled, somewhat idiotically no doubt. "Whatever that was, pretty."

"Shelley," Spike said. "Should just kill it. Not like killing the real thing, but it'll do." 

"You can't kill it, Spike," Xander said. His voice was all soft and mushy, like Willow's whenever she talked of Tara.

"From Frankenstein," Giles added in his ear. "I don't see why Spike can't kill it. It has the same weaknesses as a human. It leaves no body, simply a bit of oily residue when it's been finished off."

"Because the government has it locked up in a jail cell so they can put it on trial," Xander told both of them patiently. "They might figure out Spike had something to do with it and hunt his pretty, bleached ass down."

Giles hummed his good point there, but I hate to concede hum.

Spike looked affronted. "Everyone thinks I'm dead."

Xander rolled his eye. "Right. Trust the government? No way, Jose. I'm sure they think you're unalive and unliving it up in LA."

Giles cleared his throat, loudly. "What do you suggest we do with it? Allow it to continue to wreak Ethan Rayne's havoc on the United States' military?"

Spike must have caught that because he suddenly looked absurdly pleased as only the idea of havoc wreaking on the military can please Spike.

Xander shook his head as much as possible while lying on his back with part of a vampire covering him. "Like it can do much havoc wreaking from jail. It tried to sell secrets or something. They're sending it to the big house. Let the military have their whole Law and Order episode, then send it to their brig thing, and then it can stay there."

Spike eased his mouth close enough to the phone to be heard clearly. "I say we get the bloody lawyers back and let them get the poor bugger off the charges. Not like it ought to be subject to human law, is it? Not human."

"It did commit the crimes," Giles stated flatly. "It's best to keep the thing contained until we can fully understand what we're dealing with. Besides, if it is Rayne's homunculus, it will have all of Angelman's knowledge intact. I'm certain you wouldn't want it running around loose, would you?"

Spike's eyes turned yellow.

"No, we wouldn't want that. Can't say I want the military in possession of the thing, either." Xander patted Spike's shoulder, hoping he wouldn't get bit for his troubles. Or maybe he would get bit, in a good, hickey kind of way. "We'll let them do the trial thing and send it to prison. Then we'll stage an escape for it after enough time has passed to lull them into a sense of security. We'll figure out what to do with it after that when we figure out what it is and what Ethan's been up to with it. Maybe let Spike get rid of it for us. How does that grab you?"

"By the short'n curlies, pet," Spike said. "I'm in."

"Hm. I suppose that would be the method of dealing with the creature that would arouse the least suspicion." Giles was probably chewing on the ear piece of his glasses. "I'll see what can be done from this end, of course, but I don't hold much hope without more observation of the creature in question. I'll have Dawn send you the particulars on homunculi when she gets in."

"Thanks, G-Man."

"Do stay out of trouble."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Xander thumbed the off button and grinned up at Spike. "I love it when a plan comes together."

Spike rolled his eyes. "The plan hasn't come together, pet. The dolly still sitting in jail, isn't it?"

"But I've got you by the short and curlies, now."

Spike's eyes narrowed. 

Xander grinned. "You said I did, remember?"

"Whelp." The corner of Spike's fake sneer of disdain twitched.

Xander' affected a totally fake pout. "Oh c'mon. My face is like a poem. Dru said. You like poetry. It's fate, destiny, karma, in vino veritas. Take your pick."

Spike's eyebrow arched and he looked faintly amused. "Still say I should go kill it."

"Naw. We'll sneak in, burn some of its hair and figure out what kind of slimy thing of the week it is. No killing of the magical doojobby."

"Fine." And that didn't come out at all like a four year old getting told he wasn't getting a pony for Christmas.

Xander patted Spike's shoulder. "It'll be okay. We'll figure this thing out and head off to LA."

Spike stuck his bottom lip out. "Don't have to like it."

Xander put on his best serious face and hoped Spike wouldn't see the inner Snoopy dance of joy. "Don't expect you to. Just expect you to show up at LA, kick some evil lawyer ass, then go out and be the Big Bad when you're done. No vamp kamikaze runs."

"I don't do kamikaze, boy." Spike sneered, lip and all.

"Coolness. Hey, when this is done, wanna go out somewhere? Do some music or something? There's this Sex Pistols tribute band that I heard was supposed to be pretty good, not like the real thing, but not bad. They're based in LA, but they're doing stuff all over California. We could catch up with them somewhere, check it out. You know, find out if they're—"

"Oi!"

"Uh, yeah?" Xander blinked, his hands curling in on themselves. He hoped he didn't cut his sweaty palms open with his nails like he did when he asked Cordy out. She might be a shark in high school waters, but Spike would always be the Great White, with bleach and the blue eyes, and…. Well, Spike would smell the blood and that would be bad because he'd know Xander wasn't cool at all.

"Breathe, pet."

"Breathing just fine."

"We'll go. Check these blokes out, see if they're doing right by Sid and the boys."

Xander beamed, like an airport searchlight beam. If he beamed any broader, his lips wouldn't fit on his face anymore. "Great! We'll make sure that—

Spike's hand clamped over his mouth. "Someone at the door."

Someone pounded on the door. "Mr. Rupert Giles! Federal agents. NCIS. We'd like to have a word with you."

Xander's eye bugged out. _Rupert Giles_?

Spike glared down at Xander. "Picked up a little fan club, did you?"

"Mr. Giles! We know you're in there."

Spike vamped out in Xander's face. "I'll consider it room service."

Xander rolled his eye. "Right."

"Mr. Giles, open up!"

Spike humaned in. He prodded Xander in the gut none too gently. "'s for you."

Xander sighed and heaved himself up. "I'm coming! Keep your pants on!"

Spike rolled onto his side and lazily watched Xander cross to the door. Damned vamp made no move to swap that itty bitty hotel towel for some clothes, like a nice muumuu to keep those busy bodies from seeing what was now rightfully Xander's, or would be as soon as the vamp-wooing was a bit further underway. He threw Spike a one fingered salute over his shoulder and opened the door.

Two men stood in the hallway like a couple of professional buddy cop movie actors. Xander frowned. 

"Well, well," said taller buddy cop. DiNozzo, according to his NCIS dossier. Xander gave a mental Beavis and Butthead giggle. He could use a word like dossier correctly in a sentence! Anyway, DiNozzo was the pretty boy in the buddy cop flick. He peered over Xander's shoulder at Spike. Both of his eyebrows went up. "If it isn't Mr. Giles and Mr. Giles. Looking a little incestuous there."

The older guy, Gibbs, who could have played the pretty boy a few years ago, so probably did the I'm too old for this shit bad ass cop thing, managed not to smirk. "Spike and Harris."

"You told them my name? After I eat them, I going to eat you!"

Xander looked back just long enough to see Spike's annoyed human face, though his eyes were a bit yellow and teeth were getting a little pointy. "I didn't tell them your name."

"Eat?" Gibb's eyebrows went up.

"Hey," DiNozzo put in, "don't invite us to your love fest."

Xander leaned against the doorframe. "I didn't. Not big on the invite thing. In fact, you're completely disinvited."

"We have questions," Gibbs said. He looked past Xander, at Spike. "Get dressed. You're coming to NCIS."

Xander arched both eyebrows, wishing, once again, he could do the single eyebrow archy thing that Spike always managed to do just to annoy him. "You got a warrant?"

Gibbs kept his bland poker face. DiNozzo flinched minutely.

Xander grinned. "Then you can be all standy in the hallway and we can be all ignorey in here."

"No they can't!" Spike was pressed against Xander's back an instant later. "Go away."

"Sounds like a plan," Xander said and swung the door shut. 

Gibbs stuck his foot in the door. "I don't think so."

"Get rid of them, Harris," Spike hissed in his ear, sending goosebumps down his neck until he got all nippley, "or the take-away I'm expecting won't come from Varshall's."

"Varshall's?" DiNozzo shouldered the door wider, pushing his way in farther. "Never heard of that particular establishment."

"Not likely to deal with scrum like you, eh, mate." The trademarked sneer carried through Spike's voice clearly.

Demon bar, then. Xander crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you want?"

"We have a few questions," DiNozzo said. "And you're going to be kind enough to answer them."

"Course you do," Spike said. "You bloody tits can't do anything on your own. Your arse is that thing you sit on."

Gibbs' eyes tightened and his lips thinned. DiNozzo smirked. 

"C'mon, Spike, let 'em do their thing and they'll go away."

"Bloody useless twat." Spike poked him in the ribs, to make it clear who was the twat in the scenario. "You bollix this up and—" Spike's hands made their way around either side of Xander's neck to make violent wrenching motions in front of his face. This had the net effect of putting Spike's arms on Xander's shoulders in a nice, modified hug.

Xander smiled. "Aww, I bet you say that to all the Scoobies."

"Twat." This was said with a great deal of affection.

"Hey, look at it this way, they totally proved that they're really good at what they do."

Spike leaned into him, hands dangling comfortably at the wrists. "They haven't proved anything but that you've the brains of a rock." More sneering was no doubt looming over Xander's shoulder. "A kitten could've figured you out, boy."

"Hey!" Gibbs snapped.

Xander frowned at him. "Do you mind? We're having a conversation here."

"You can have your conversation just as soon as you've answered a few questions. Angelman. Talk."

Xamder shook his head and tsked, oozing as much pity as he could. "Boy, they sure don't tell you cop people anything, do they?"

"No they don't. So start telling," DiNozzo said with a grin.

"Nothing to tell." Spike said. "Now leave."

Xander patted Spike's hip, which was about all he could reach, or so he rationalized, and thought about it for a fast moment. "Well, they are the ones putting Dr. Frankenstein in a cage for the rest of his unnatural life."

"Dr. Frankenstein? You mean Wilder?" Gibbs said. "Or is his name Angelman?"

Spike growled. Pretty boy's hand twitched toward his gun and Gibbs' lips thinned.

"You don't like Angelman," DiNozzo noted. "Why'd you hire the fancy lawyers for him?"

"Now we're heading into a whole universe of stuff you guys don't have the clearance to know." Xander said. 

"You brought us in, Harris," Gibbs said. "You give me a name on a tombstone and two hours later some covert ops boy is telling us to butt the hell out. Now you're telling us to butt the hell out. If you didn't want us involved, why did you give me the name?"

Spike chuckled. "Got you there, Droopy."

Xander smacked him on the hip. It was all taut and smooth. He could just bet Spike leered from the sudden frown on DiNozz's face. "Wilder's got to be locked up. All there is to it."

"So what's Angelman got to do with it?" Gibbs said.

Xander twisted his head enough to look at Spike, who was glaring at Gibbs. "Justice. It's about justice for someone who won't get it any other way."

Gibbs' eyebrows went up and his eyes tilted to Spike. "Justice?"

Spike's lower lip started to stick out, just a little bit. "I can take care of it myself, whelp."

Xander sniffed haughtily, ala Cordy. "Not even, bleachy. You may be breathing challenged but you deserve to get the same justice as everyone else would."

DiNozzo shifted his stance. "Asthma must clash with the image."

Spike rolled his eyes and moved to lean against the door jamb. He tilted his head and regarded Xander through narrowed eyes. "How do you plan to get me justice, pet?"

Xander sighed and waved a hand at Gibbs and DiNozzo. "Well, not this way. They weren't supposed to figure out who we were, let alone show up for pizza."

"Can we take this inside?" Gibbs asked. It was a pleasant, respectful tone of voice, if you were Angelus doing the pleasanting and respectfuling.

DiNozzo grinned. Spike smirked. Xander shook his head. "Nope, you're not invited."

"Not like it bloody well matters," Spike muttered. "Humans."

DiNozzo frowned, but didn't open his mouth.

"So, the covert ops boy. Uh, who was he?" Xander asked in the same pleasant, respectful tone Gibbs had used.

Gibbs stared him down for a few really, really long minutes. Or maybe it was seconds? Then Gibbs shrugged. "Rye was the only name I got."

"Was he about yea tall," Xander held a hand about even with his eyes, "blonde hair, blue eyes, and look kind of like an ad for the all American soldier from Iowa?"

"Yes," Gibbs said.

"Rye, AKA Riley Finn. So, what did Riley want?"

Spike hissed. "Captain Cornfed? This keeps getting better, whelp."

Gibbs ' eyes flicked to Spike for a moment, than right back to the Xand-man. "Told me to drop my investigation. Or else."

"So naturally you didn't." Xander grinned and poked Spike in the side. "Oh yeah, this is great!"

Gibbs glared. "Great? He threatened to interrogate my people! What did you get me into, Harris?"

"Uh, well, I'm not sure what I should tell you."

"Bloody hell." Spike stomped into the room. "Bring 'em in, boy."

Gibbs pushed his way in before Xander could object. DiNozzo smirked and followed. Xander sighed, shut the door, turned around, and squawked. "Spike!"

Spike, who had totally dropped the towel and stood bare-assed in front of other people, turned to face him. "Wot?"

Xander rushed forward to protect his vampire, well his as soon as he figured out how to seal the deal on that. "You're naked!"

Spike huffed just like Buffy did whenever her shoes got scuffed. "'M sexy, too, but don't see me stating the obvious, do you?"

Xander felt his lips turning down. The glare of doom he was trying out was degenerating into a pout. He could feel it.

Spike heaved a sigh and pulled his jeans on. "Happy, whelp?"

"Shirt, too."

Spike snorted and dropped into the chair by the table that held his smokes. "M' bits are covered. Good enough."

"Riley Finn," Gibbs said.

"Captain Cornfed," Spike said. "Bastard. Run with a secret military group called the Initiative back in Sunnydale."

"Ixnay on the Initiativenay, Spike!"

Spike stuck a cigarette in his mouth. "Think Cornfed will help 'em out?"

Xander sighed. "Fine. The Initiative did a lot of experiments on innocents and, um, some evildoers."

Spike smirked. "'Bout time you noticed me for my finer qualities, besides my percy."

"They—wait, wait. Percy? What the hell are you talking about, Spike?"

Spike grabbed his crotch suggestively and leered. "Percy."

Xander's jaw dropped open. "Oh my god! You've been calling Wesley a dick all the time?"

Spike smirked.

"The Initiative," Gibbs cut in.

"Oh, yeah. Um, well, the tortured a bunch of de—people. Like, cut 'em all up and peeled their skin off and stuff like that, while they were awake, to see, um, something all sciencey sounding. They put behavior modifying chips in va—people's heads. Totally without asking. Kidnapped them right off the street and everything. They did a whole Frankenstein kind of thing with parts from a bunch of bodies, a computer, and some uranium. Don't ask, it was very much with the badness. Angelman was the second in command of the science people."

Spike huffed, less Buffy with scuffed shoes and more Buffy facing a nasty prophecy. "Put th' chip in my head."

Gibbs frowned. "Wait."

"Huh?"

"Behavior modification chips?" Gibbs frowned. "What kind of bullshit are you running?"

Xander crossed his arms and frowned. "Yeah, chips. And they were so not of the good. Riley was a good little Initiative soldi—"

"Nancy boy." Spike blew a smoke ring and ignored Xander's glare.

"And thank you, Spike. Soldier. Look, believe me or not, that's not my problem. The problem is whether or not you're going to put Wilder into a tiny little cell with Bubba of the bad attitude."

Gibbs looked under-impressed. "We were doing that before you showed up."

Xander crossed his arms and frowned. "Yeah, well, justice needs to happen for more than just some stupid super secret decoder ring stealing and espionaging. Sp—some people, the people Angelman hurt need justice, too. Maybe you can't charge him for what he did as Dr. Igor, but you can make sure it never gets to happen again. You can be the part of the justice system that knows that what he did was wrong and that he should be punished for it." Xander clenched his hands. "That'll have to be enough."

Spike blew another smoke ring and Gibbs simply frowned.

"Which one of you broke into the jail last night?" DiNozzo asked.

Xander did his best to not look guilty because that kind of expression never failed to convince Willow he did, in fact, eat the entire batch of cookies.

"Bloody white hats," Spike muttered and stubbed the cigarette. He stood up, which caused the buddy cops to twitch their hands toward their weapons, and stomped over to Xander. Spike hooked his arm around Xander's neck, half affectionate, half strangling. "Idiot whelp. The phrase 'more heart than sense' was created just for you."

Xander smiled because that was, wait, he frowned because it was, he had no idea what that was. "Are you insulting me?"

Spike ruffled his hair and dragged him downward until their heads were about level and, presumably, Spike was feeling comfortable. "Still evil enough, pet. Soul doesn't make that much difference."

"Well, Mr. Harris, you have the—"

"Oh, no. I so do not have time for the whole jail thing and you'll just have to let me go in the end anyway and I can totally withstand torture for, like, ever. I've been trained by the best. So, there will be no arresting of the Xan-man. No way, not now, not ever."

Spike abruptly shifted posture, into his graceful yet insultingly insolent relaxed tiger on two feet pose. Hey, that could be a martial art thing. Unfortunately for Xander's back, in order for Spike to be all Insulting Tiger, Smirking Dragon, Xander had to lean over a bit, which wasn't bad because Spike's back was arched, his hips thrust forward in that dominating the whole town without being slutty way of his, and he had his free thumb hooked into the sliding down waistband of his jeans, giving Xander one hell of a view.

"—to know everything. Eh, plodder?"

Xander snapped to attention. Spike had been at his taunting, well not worst, but he was using the tone of voice he had usually used on Giles when he wanted to drink the good tea without anyone knowing about it.

"If we didn't want to know, we wouldn't have tracked you down, came all the way over here, and trust me, traffic is a bitch, even with him driving," DiNozzo hooked a thumb toward Gibbs, "and then asked you questions." The last bit was said with a hard tone, a bit louder than the rest.

"Huh," Xander said, before Spike could reply. "I have a theory."

"I don't want theories," Gibbs said. "I want facts. Now."

"It's the quippage. Cops never seem to be able to quip well, even in the heat of," Xander waved his free hand, "whatever. I think that's what makes them so, well," he shrugged a bit.

Gibbs was ignoring him to concentrate all of his attention on Spike. 

"See?" Xander said. "No sense of humor."

"Be a luv, pet." Spike sounded all amused and condescendy. "Varshall's boy'll be here in a mo'. Fetch my lunch, yeah?"

"Right. I'm not donut-boy anymore. Get your own."

"You planning on telling us anytime soon?" Gibbs asked in a mildish tone, kind of like Buffy whenever she'd interrogated Willy.

"Soon enough." Spike glared at Xander. "You're interrupting my holiday. Least you can do is play minion."

Someone knocked on the door, far more tentatively than the buddy cops in the room did when they showed up. Xander glared back at Spike. "Fine, but you owe me."

Xander tromped over to the door and flung it open. "What?"

A human-looking demon, probably half or a quarter human, slouched in the doorway. He sneered at Xander. "Delivery for Spike."

Xander raised his eyebrows. "For _who_?"

The demon puffed up. 

Xander grinned with all of his teeth, took a step forward, and got all up in the demon's face. " _Who_?"

The demon's shoulders slumped and his head lowered a bit, until he had to peek up at Xander through his bangs. He looked petulant rather than insolent now. "I don't have to take this from you, human."

Xander wrapped his hand around the demon's throat and squeezed. Hard. "Don't take it. Make my day, punk."

In the background, Spike chuckled.

The demon's shoulders trembled and he swallowed. "You're the Slayer's boy."

"Excuse me?" Xander squeezed. In the back of the room, he could have sworn he heard Spike call him smashing and sexy.

"You're the Slayer's Knight," the demon spit out, complete with spit shower, "the One Who Sees, the Slayer's Heart. C'mon man," the demon whined, "I'm just a delivery boy."

"So, tell me, _who_ is the delivery for?" He shook the demon, just to make sure.

The demon looked a bit nervous, his eyes darting into the room and then back to Xander's face. "Master Spike. I have a delivery for Master Spike."

"Better." Xander snatched the cooler out of the demon's hand and slammed the door in his face.

"Lovely, pet, just lovely."

Xander shrugged and put the cooler on the table in front of the couch. "He was rude, didn't deserve a tip."


	4. Chapter Four

Pretty boy was at the cooler, reaching to open it, but Xander blocked him.

Spike draped himself decoratively in the chair at the table again, the same way he would drape himself on a dusty throne in a broken down factory in front of a bunch of minions. "Bring me my dinner, pet."

Xander narrowed his eye.

"Now, pet."

"You are so not the boss of me."

"You started this, boy. How did you think it would end? Bring me my dinner."

Xander stared at Spike for a few minutes. The face was lazy, but implacable, like Shere Kahn. Xander was willing to bet that he was the only one that could see the reality lurking in Spike's eyes and slant of shoulders. Spike might be in control of the situation, but that didn't mean he wasn't a bit scared. Xander couldn't blame him. These people might not be Initiative, or soldiers even, but they were the government. Xander suddenly felt like a complete screw up. "I'm sorry, Spike," he said. 

Spike smiled. "S'okay, pet. Likely turn out better this way. My dinner."

Xander picked up the cooler, feeling kind of like the same third grade idiot that had a lunch box full of cookies and cereal instead of the sandwich and apple Willow thought he should have, and carried it over to Spike. He knew the buddy cops were exchanging significantish glances and that whole think-they're-onto-something routine. Xander just put the cooler down on the floor next to Spike, but not between him and the cops, opened the cooler, and picked up one of the bags of blood.

It was cold, but it wasn't like Spike was a reptile. Spike preferred it heated up, but Xander had a strong hunch that Spike was going for show rather than tell. "Hey, it's AB pos. How much did that set you back?"

Spike took the bag regally. "Poof paid for it."

"Blood," DiNozzo said mockingly. "Next thing you'll tell us you're a vampire."

Spike smirked. "Wouldn't tell you anything, thick boy like you." Spike shifted into game face and sank his fangs into the bag.

DiNozzo yelped and jumped backward. Gibbs' expression tightened and his lips started turning a little white from the pressure, but he didn't move otherwise.

Xander rolled his eye. "Spike's more a show not tell kinda vamp."

"Riley Finn's group put a behavior modification chip in his head," Gibbs said. "For what purpose?"

Xander shrugged. "They were into make super soldiers. Thought that maybe they could use vamps, if they could control the vamps. They used other demons for things that are just too yuck to think about."

"Vampires," DiNozzo said.

"Yeah. It was disgusting. Sure, vamps are all evil and stuff, and I'm with the whole stake first ask questions later philosophy myself, but what the Initiative did was just wrong."

"So how come you aren't staking him? It?" Gibbs asked.

"Spike's on the good guy side now."

"Because of the chip," Gibbs guessed.

"Nah, chipped vamps are still evil. Spike's a completely different kind of special ed."

Spike finished off the bag and licked his fangs.

"So what makes him good?"

"Kinda hard to say, y'know?" Xander scratched his chin. "I'd say it's the soul he got back a year or so ago, but everyone that worked at the Initiative had souls and some of them out-eviled Spike on his worst day."

"Oi!"

Xander poked Spike in the arm. "Oh, you know it's true. You were evil, but Walsh had you out-eviled like Broodboy has you out-gelled. Which is saying something. You using shellac these days?"

Spike scoffed.

Gibbs stared at Spike without moving for a few minutes. DiNozzo started by gaping and then switched to frowning. Spike just stuck his hand out for another blood bag, which Xander provided with a heavy sigh and another eye roll.

Gibbs pointed at Spike "Wilder put the chip in his head." Gibbs turned his accusey finger on Xander. "You want Wilder to go to jail for putting the chip in his head." Gibbs dropped his hand and frowned at Spike. "What do you get out of this?"

Spike pulled his fangs from the blood bag. "Need to get into the jail."

"No," Gibbs said. 

Spike curled his lip. "Yeah. Gotta make sure that thing in jail is human. Angelman died years ago. The thing in your jail is either Angelman raised from the dead, or something else. In either case, don't want what's left of the Initiative, or any other of you boys, to have it. It knows things that no one else knows. It should be dead." He dropped the sneer—his sneer was uber creepy in game face by the way—and stuck his fangs back into the bag.

"Raise the dead?' Gibbs sounded mostly skeptical, but partly hopeful.

"No way. No good ever comes from raising the dead," Xander said. "Especially when it rips them out of heaven. Bad, bad, bad."

Gibbs didn't say anything.

"If what you're saying is true," DiNozzo said slowly, "which it can't be, then Wilder's an asset they'd want to keep alive."

Xander nodded. Maybe this wouldn't turn into such a clusterfuck. "Yup. He can do all of the behavior modification and super soldier making stuff."

DiNozzo took in Spike's game face consideringly, like Willow with an interesting new idea on how something might work.

Xander frowned. "I kinda get what you're thinking. Let vampires fight the wars 'cause it'll save lives. Vamps are evil and why not? We'd kill them all anyway, right?"

DiNozzo shook his head. "I can see the benefits of using things like him to fight wars, but—"

"That makes us Nazis," Gibbs finished.

Xander beamed and chucked Spike on the shoulder. "Told you!"

Spike set the empty blood bag aside. "Boy here, he wants justice for me. I want Angelman dead."

"No," Gibbs crossed his arms. "He'll go to trial. He'll be locked up for life."

Spike lounged again, his face melting back to human. "Most demons don't get along with others of their own kind, let alone demons from a different species. What happens if the Initiative gets the idea to use demons again, for demon control?"

"Demons aren't human, most don't even look it," Xander said, "but that doesn't mean they're all stupid."

"They'd band together," DiNozzo said.

"Demons all together against humans." Xander smiled at DiNozzo. "Right now, we're on top and stuff because demons just all get along with their lives better if people don't know about them. The torch and pitchfork days weren't that long ago, really, and they know what a mob of people can do to the average demon. But they get that kind of thing, too. Mobs are just revenge. What the Initiative did was different. Might start a demon war that we don't know we can win."

Gibbs sighed. "I don't know that I believe all this."

Xander had to agree with that. His intro to demons way less fun than this. "It is kind of hard to take in."

"I'm not getting you into the jail."

"Don't have to, then." Spike stretched a bit drowsily. "Take your arse down to the jail and burn a bit of Angelman's hair. If the flame burns black, he's not human."

"And then what do we do?"

Spike grinned toothily. "Well, tell us, of course."

Xander frowned at Spike. "You can send him to jail. Keep an eye on him, make sure he gets no visitors or mail, you know, so he can't pass on his information. If he breaks out, we'll take care of it."

"That's it." Gibbs didn't sound convinced.

"That's it." Xander tried to sound reassuring. 

"What if Wilder is human?"

"Well," Xander said, "if his hair doesn't burn black, then we'll need to get some kind of genetic sample, maybe an interview, to see what he is."

Gibbs eyed him for a few moments. "You two planning on going anywhere?"

"Maybe on a date, if I'm lucky," Xander said.

"I'll get back to you." Gibbs headed for the door. "DiNozzo!"

DiNozzo looked at Xander, obviously a bit creeped out. "If he's really a vampire, he's dead."

"Well, yeah, that's the way vampirism works."

"Isn't that disgusting? A dead body?"

Xander smiled. "I've never known anyone more alive than Spike."

DiNozzo didn't look convinced. "Yeah, well, I don't want to see it."

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs yelled from the door.

"On it, Boss!" DiNozzo trotted out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Spike tilted his head and looked up at Xander from the corner of one eye. "He's right, luv. I am a dead body."

Xander shrugged. "You're a vampire. Big difference. Besides, you're just what I like. Smart, honest, with just enough evil to make you fun."

Spike nodded abruptly. "You can take me out, show me a good time. See if you're good enough."

"Oh, gee, thanks." Xander flopped onto the bed. "I feel so privileged now."

"Should do, pet." Spike pulled another smoke from the pack. "I'm particular."

Xander rolled onto his side to get a clear view of his vamp. "I'm just what you like, too, Spike."

Spike arched a brow. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Loyal, strong, and a bit loco in the cerveza."

Spike was silent for a moment, then put his cigarette away. "Could be, pet. Could be."

Xander smiled.

"And it's cabeza, pet. Cerveza is beer."

***

Gibbs didn't wait for Tony to buckle up before he took off. The jail was a little over a mile away and he wanted to get this over with.

Tony curled his hand into the oh-shit handle and braced himself. "What the hell was that, Boss?"

"Stop sign."

"No, the vampire thing. What the hell was that?"

Gibbs didn't bother to answer. He didn't know what the hell that was. He didn't know if he should believe it or not. The punk's shift from human to, whatever that thing was, was chilling. He didn't know how it could be faked, but anything was possible. The only thing was that his gut had instantly told him to kill it. His heart had started pounding and his stomach had climbed up into his throat. It had been hard to breathe. Everything inside of him had screamed to kill it. It was dangerous. Nothing had pissed him off more in his life than that feeling.

The kid with the eyepatch said it was good, but—

Gibbs shook his head and pulled into the jail's lot. He slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car. First, he wanted to talk to Wilder. Then, well, he'd figure out what to do.

"Uh, boss?" Tony stepped beside him. "We're gonna, you know, burn Wilder's hair?"

"We're going to talk to Wilder. See what he knows."

Tony relaxed. "Good."

Gibbs marched into the jail with Tony trotting at his heel. Honestly, he didn't know what he was hoping to find out from Wilder, other than to see which of the two had broken into the jail the other night. Gibbs' money was on Spike. The Harris kid just didn't have the intimidating presence. He briefly considered the delivery man the Harris kid had nearly strangled, but dismissed it. Harris was more like a puppy, one of those big water-loving ones that people put bandanas on and threw Frisbees for. He had teeth, but his intimidation factor was less than none. Had to be Spike. 

They were shown to the same interview room and, a few minutes later, Wilder was shoved in. Gibbs sat down calmly at the table, hands clasped and placed just so on the scarred laminate top in front of him. Tony took up his usual insolent pose a step behind him and to the right. Wilder stayed by the door, eyes darting between the two.

Gibbs waited until Wilder started to settle, then said, "Tell me about Spike."

Wilder flinched. "I don't know anything."

"You know Spike," Tony said helpfully. "About so tall, bleaches, sounds like a bad Benny Hill episode?"

"Tell me," Gibbs added.

Wilder licked his lips and stared at the door behind them, almost as if he expected Spike to come leaping through it. 

"Seems Spike will be in town for a while," Gibbs said. "He's awful interested in you."

"You gotta keep him away from me. _Please_."

Gibbs settled back in the chair. "Why."

Wilder licked his lips again and sidled away from the door leading to the cells, as if Spike might come bursting through. "He's an animal. A monster."

Gibbs stared until Wilder shivered, then said, "A vampire."

"God, you know. Yes! Please, you have to do something. Help me. Get me out of here. Something. Anything!"

"The Initiative," Gibbs said. 

Wilder flinched again, looking around wildly.

Gibbs banged a fist on the table. "The Initiative!"

"It's gone. Buried under the Sunnydale crater. Even before that, it was gone. Emptied out and buried. I can't tell you anymore!"

"You put a chip in Spike's head."

"Are you going to help me?"

"Spike and his new little buddy seemed very interested in visiting you tonight, after lights out," Tony said. Gibbs didn't have to look to see the grin.

"Oh, God," Wilder whimpered. "You can't do this to me. You can't! It's insane!"

"You put a behavior modification chip in Spike's head."

"Yes! Okay, yes!" Wilder curled around himself. "I did what I had to do. They're animals, monsters. Could you imagine the offensive capabilities of a weapon like that? In the right hands it would save hundreds of lives on any battlefield, any night!"

Gibbs felt his lip curl.

"Harris was right," Tony hissed.

"Harris?" Wilder jolted straight. "Xander Harris?"

"Spike's apparently his boyfriend these days." Tony shifted his weight. "Kind of gross, but no accounting for taste."

"But why?"

"He's into necrophilia," Tony said.

"No, Harris works for the Slayer. He's on the good guy side. Why would he be around Hostile 17? It makes no sense!"

Gibbs stood up and slowly made his way over to Wilder, who crouched down. Gibbs pulled his knife from behind his belt, and grabbed Wilder by the hair.

"Please," Wilder whispered, palms rising defensively, eyes closing. "Please."

Gibbs cut a chunk of hair out. "Harris says you're not human. What are you?"

Wilder's eyes opened wide. "What? I'm human!"

"DiNozzo!"

Tony stepped forward, a lighter handy. Gibbs lit the hair on fire. It stank like charred fiberglass. The flame burned black.

Wilder stared at it. "What? What was that?"

Gibbs stood up. He handed the lighter back to Tony and stuck his knife back in its hiding place. "That means you're not human."

"What? No! I'm human!"

He ignored Wilder's screeching and headed for the door. Tony paused, no doubt to smirk at Wilder, and then followed.

Neither of them said a word until they were both sitting in the car. It was nearly six in the evening. The sun hadn't started going down yet, but it would. Somehow, Gibbs didn't feel as comfortable with the dark as he used to.

"Now what, boss?" Tony asked, his voice soft.

"Secnav."

Tony's head jerked toward him.

"If he doesn't know what's going on, he has the clearance to find out."

Tony's nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath. "We're taking this _vampire_ thing seriously?"

"Hair doesn't burn like that, no matter what kind of products are in it. Nothing burns like that." Gibbs' voice was a soft as Tony's had been moments ago. "We saw a vampire today. We're putting away a man that performed experiments on that vampire. Someone who isn't human. The black ops boys wanted us out. We either pretend nothing happened or we go to Secnav."

"Even if we wanted to, I don't see the Harris kid keeping quiet about it." Tony drummed his fingers on his thighs. "He seems to know that covert ops guy you mentioned."

Gibbs grunted and turned the engine over. "Call McGee, tell him to locate Secnav."

"Uh."

"Tell him to keep it quiet."

Gibbs hit the nearest Starbucks drive-thru while Tony dealt with McGee. After two cups of coffee and some ridiculous latte thing for Tony, they were on their way to the Secnav's house. Thankfully, Tony didn't have any of his usual chatter or movie quotes. He sat in this seat, vibrating, eyes roving sidewalks, when they were on city streets. Gibbs figured that he was looking for signs of vampires in the pedestrians washed with shadows by the late afternoon sun. He didn't blame Tony. He was doing the same thing.

He pulled up to the Secnav's gate house and opened the door for the marine MP on duty. He forked over Tony's and his IDs. A few minutes later, he drove to the garage, as directed. The lights in the mansion were on and shining, indicating that some sort of shindig was going down soon. He snorted, parked in front of the door farthest from the mansion, and climbed out. Tony mimicked him, leaning against the side of the car to wait. It wasn't long. Another MP opened the garage door and they went inside.

"Gibbs."

"Davenport."

Secnav Davenport sucked on his cigar, eyeing the two of them as if they were naughty sailors fresh from a long weekend of shore leave.

"What brings you here?"

Gibbs stared pointedly at the door, until Davenport waved his hand and it shut. Gibbs squared his shoulders. "The Initiative."

Davenport's eyes widened, then narrowed.

"We've got a problem," Gibbs said. Tony ducked his head, either to hide a wince or smirk.

Davenport stood, holding the stogie in between his fingers, poker face in place, and listened to the entire story laid bare before him. When Gibbs was finished, Davenport took another long puff on the cigar. "You've put me in a shit position, gunny."

"You were in a shit position whether I was involved or not, sir," Gibbs said.

Davenport sighed. "Fuck."

Tony shifted, but remained silent.

"Get a room tonight. Pay cash. Call the Harris kid in the morning and set up meeting. 10 is good. Don't tell him it's with me. Get a room or something in his hotel and have McGee sweep it. Have Harris bring the vampire."

Tony stiffened. "Vampires are real."

Davenport took a long hit on the cigar, the nodded. "Yes, son. They are."

Gibbs crossed tilted his head. "What are we going to do about Wilder?"

Davenport smiled. "Get rid of it, whatever it is. You don't need to know who runs the Initiative, Jethro, just that they should never have made this thing."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Some people might argue that it could save the lives of servicemen and women in combat."

"Only if you can keep control of these things. Plans like these have a way of turning around and biting you on the ass. That vampire you saw today, Hostile 17, only thing that stopped it from eating you is that it didn't want to." Davenport grunted. "Maybe the Harris kid. Point is, they had it, they chipped it, listed it as an asset; it ended up a part of what brought their operation crashing down around their ears."

Gibbs nodded.

"See you tomorrow at ten."

"Sir," Gibbs said. Davenport stood aside and watched them leave.

Tony didn't say anything, which was unusual in itself, until they'd left the Secnav far behind. Gibbs didn't feel like breaking the silence and drove. First stop, an ATM.

"Vampires are real." Tony's voice sounded sure and competent. He'd assimilated the information then.

"Looks that way."

"That closes four cold cases. One in Peoria, two in Baltimore, and one at NCIS."

That brought Gibbs up short. There were vampires in Peoria? He blinked. "It won't close them."

"No, I guess we can't stamp vampire victim on the cover and file it away. It does close the investigation, though. At least the one at NCIS."

Gibbs frowned. "Which one? Munoz?"

"No, my money's on cult victim for Munoz. Whitaker, the petty officer that looked like a supermodel. Exsanguinated from the right femoral, and then the body disappeared three days later." Tony drummed his fingers on his leg. "I wonder if Spike would know how to find her, if she got vamped."

"Harris might."

"He's an odd duck," Tony said. "Seems like the world's oldest class clown, but. . . ."

"Yeah, but. Wonder what he's into."

"We can always ask."

Gibbs grunted. He flashed back to the conversation he'd overheard in the jail's hallway, between the kid and the lawyers. He had a few questions for the kid. Gibbs put it into drive and decided on a roundabout trip to the hotel Harris and the vampire were located in, with a stop at the Base Exchange for a few toiletries and some cash.

It didn't take long to get through the BX. Tony, as expected, bitched about the lack of serious designer labels, but wasn't such a stickler that he didn't purchase three outfits. Three! Gibbs only needed a new shirt and a standard shaving kit. His ex-wives had spent less time dithering over perfume than Tony did with the cologne selection, before he abruptly decided to do without. He watched Tony's production with his eyebrows raised, trying to decide if this was a show put on solely for his benefit in some odd DiNozzo way of thinking, or if this was the way Tony really did shop.

Tony strapped the seat belt in. "I thought you got all of your clothes at Sears."

Gibbs shook his head and started the car. "Better deals, no taxes, and they have sandpaper."

"It's just a shame to waste all of that," Tony waved hand at Gibbs, "with all of," there was a pause, then another, but more curt hand wave, "that."

Huh. Gibbs pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the hotel. 

"You're a decent enough looking guy, Boss. You should invest in a decent wardrobe."

"If it isn't machine washable, it isn't decent."

"And the Old Spice? Forget it! They're doing great stuff with wood scents that you'd like."

Gibbs glared at the road. "I'm not a makeover project, DiNozzo."

"All I'm saying is that you could benefit from stuff that brings out your natural, er, Gibbsness."

Gibbs spent the next, very satisfying, few minutes imagining Anthony DiNozzo as a marine. If anyone needed to be restricted to a uniform for his own good, it was Tony. If his sartorial choices were limited to inspection day uniform and whichever daily uniform was cleanest, he might learn a thing or two about how the other half lived. He smirked. "I tell you what, DiNozzo," he said abruptly cutting off a flow of discussion about classical cuts and freedom of movement, "you can give me a makeover, DiNozzo style, but you'll have to get a makeover, marine style, first."

Tony's hand went to his hair. "Uh, I can't pull off the marine cut, boss."

"I'll leave your hair alone." Gibbs smiled at the thought of putting Tony through a one man bootcamp. You could take the gunny out of the marines, but he'd still be a gunny.

"Uh, I'll pass. Thanks." Tony's exaggerated shudder made the entire car shiver. "Yeah, you enjoy Sears and I'll keep my Zegna."

Gibbs pulled into the underground parking of the Marriott.

Tony shook his head. "You and McGee. Completely hopeless. Not as hopeless as Ziva, but at least she has an excuse."

"What's that?"

"She's still stuck in a war zone." Tony climbed out of the car and stretched. "She has an excuse for driving like she's in a war zone, boss. You don't."

Gibbs held back a chuckle. "Rule 12, DiNozzo."

Tony snorted. "I like Ziva, most of the time, but she needs a deprogrammer. I have no idea what kind of shit her life has been like, but I know it's been crap. She needs help, not a boyfriend."

Gibbs lifted an eyebrow and led the way to the elevator. "A deprogrammer, DiNozzo? She's Mossad, not in a cult."

"Is there really that much difference between the way special operations people are taught to think and react than the way cult members are brainwashed? Sure, special ops people have a good reason and purpose for their training and cults are just wrong, but the ends don't mean that the means are all that much different. I'm not a profiler, but even I can tell that not all of that is PTSD. A lot of it is training. You're like Ziva, only more deprogrammed." Tony shrugged and thumbed both elevator call buttons. "Once a marine, always a marine, but you get that you're in the civilian world now, and not in a war zone and you can react like a civilian when you want to."

Gibbs frowned and stared at the closed elevator doors. He wasn't sure what he should make of Tony's _insight_ , for lack of a better word. "Ziva's a liaison. She's subject to recall."

He felt Tony's eyes on his face, boring a hole into his profile. He didn't react. Tony sighed after a moment, and looked at the doors, too. "If they can call her back to her old job, then she really shouldn't be here, boss."

Gibbs could hear the creak of the elevator as it approached. "She's fine."

Tony sighed again, sounding a bit more sad this time. "We'll make her soft. She'll forget to be in her war zone all the time someday, boss, turn more and more civilian." He shrugged. "She already is, somewhat. And when she goes back, well. . . ."

Gibbs clenched his teeth. He knew that, knew it well. If they put her back in the field, she wouldn't be ready for it.

Tony stepped into the elevator before the doors had opened completely. "Maybe she won't get called back."

Gibbs didn't say anything, just pushed the button to the lobby. He never put much faith in maybes.

***

"Should get you a collar, pet," Spike said out of the blue.

Xander's butt was facing his vamp while he dug around in his duffel for something appropriate to wear on his hot date with Spike. He'd never had to come up with a dinner-dancing-demon slaying outfit before. He'd briefly—briefly!—thought of calling Buffy for some fashion advice. She did go through high school dressed for both slaying and meeting up with her hunky, deadboy hunny. But, it was bad enough that she was going to have plenty of opportunities to torture him by throwing his dating the evil undead commentary back in his face, he didn't need a make-over on top of it. He could survive the pointing out of his hypocritical choice of boyfriend these days, but he couldn't survive a make-over. Not ever.

He looked over his shoulder. "What?"

"Collar for you. Thick bit of brown leather with spikes, I'd say. Something that's a bit strong, a bit tough, and a bit tender."

Xander frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Spike prowled over, a bare strip of flesh between the top of his jeans and bottom of his tee shirt flashing Xander provocatively with every step. Spike trailed his fingers across Xander's throat. "Should put a collar on you. Get a tag with my name on it." 

"Just to be perfectly clear here, Evil Undead, you can call me pet because that's your weirdo British way of talking, but I am _not_ your pet because that's the weirdo vampire way of playing with their food."

Spike just smirked at that.

"No, uh-uh, not happening."

Spike's hand curled around the back of Xander's neck and brought their bodies flush together. "Who's the Big Bad, pet?"

Xander rolled his eye. "Duh. You."

"What makes the Big Bad the Big Bad?"

"Snark and bleach?"

Spike smiled. "Power. Demons fear me. I beat the First Evil, pet."

Xander rolled his eye. "Demons don't respect you for that."

"No, but they do respect my power. Takes bollocks and strength to take on the First. I did. I'm here, First isn't."

Xander frowned at that. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Beating the First is a thing, but no one has ever beaten you lot."

"So?"

"You aren't an idiot, pup."

Xander tilted his head a bit, as if in thought, but more to watch Spike's eyes dilate at the new arch in his neck. "Thought I was a 'lackbrain,' oh mighty Big Bad?"

Spike scoffed. "Point is, demon world hasn't made up its mind yet. Am I the Big Bad or the Slayer's hanger-on?" Spike nodded toward the cooler. "Varshall's boy'll be telling tales about the Slayer's minion playing the minion for me. Demanding I get the respect I deserve. Gonna put the D.C. nightlife in a bit of a tizzy, it will."

Xander straightened his head and glared. "So not a minion, here."

"Doesn't matter what you really are, pet. Point is, you wear my collar and demons'll think I have more power."

"I won't act like a pet," he said before he even knew he'd decided to go along with this crazy Spike Plan.

Spike smiled. It lit up his face like a, uh, face-lighty-up-thing. Made him stunning and beautiful. "Even better, pet. Even better. Knickers will get in a twist all over when the Slayer's boy voluntarily puts on my collar."

"I think we should save it for kinky sex games, fang face."

"It's a good idea, pet, trust me."

"Last time the evil undead had a plan to use me to play power games with another demon, you saw right through it."

Spike shrugged. "Peaches never could put the lump rattling in his skull to good use. Beauty of my plan, pet, is that it's _true_. You would wear it because you wanted to. Demons attach whatever meanings they want to it."

Xander could feel the doubt bubbling up from the place that still whispered words like Zeppo and donut boy. "Would you have put a collar on Buffy, if, you know, you would have been, you know, in a place to kind of do that back in the 'Dale?"

"No," Spike said after a few moments. Xander stiffened and pulled back. Spike sighed softly and cupped his cheeks gently, in a way that made it seem almost affectionate. "Pay attention, Xander. I would've put on a collar and said it was from her, had it come to that. Slayer has to be the Big Good. Has to have power to lord over demons, yeah?"

Xander felt his lips pulling down mulishly. "Yeah."

"She put on a collar, even from the Big Bad hisself, and she loses some of her power. Loses respect. Some of the lesser demons who run from her might be thinking they could maybe take her. And she spends more time fighting." Spike smiled. "You, though, you're hers. Her minion. Her supporter. Her friend. Her Scoobie. You don't have the same kind of power. Your power is different. You don’t have to be the Big Good because you're a weapon the Big Good has. Demons don't understand your power, but they do respect it."

Xander wasn't so frowny now and it was kind of irritating. Buffy wasn't the boss of him and all owner of the lackies and minions. Buffy was his friend, his bud, one of his girls. But the average demon understood friendship about as well as Xander understood German. He knew it when he saw it and could maybe pretend to be knowledge-boy because he could say guten morgen, Oktoberfest, and beer. Demons wouldn't know _why_ Xander spend his life helping Buffy, they'd just know he did for some human reason. 

His eye narrowed suspiciously, in what he hoped was menacing but suspected wasn't because he could feel his bottom lip start to jut out. "And why the sudden thing with the collar?"

Spike suddenly acquired a defensive, almost sheepish slump to his shoulders. "Well, ah, I might have offended a few demons, being on the side of you white hats. Now that I might survive whatever do Peaches has planned, I should drop by a few locals and have a spot of tea and pleasantries."

Xander relaxed. "Now that makes more sense. I didn't think we were to the kinky sex games stage of your courtship yet. You're an old fashioned vamp."

Spike smirked. "Needs must, and all that."

"Fine, we'll go get a collar. But no make-overs. If your fancy demon power brokers don't like the Xan-man the way he's dressed, they can just build a bridge and get over it."

"I'll get you into leather pants yet, pet."

He pictured himself in a pair of leather pants, and knowing Spike's sense of taste, probably a silk shirt on top. With his dark hair, he'd look kind of Angelussy, a clumsy, one-eyed Angelus, but the look on Willow's face would be priceless. He'd probably get a face full of holy water as soon as he walked in the door. He grinned. Or if he knocked on the door, like he was pretending he forgot his key or something and needed help getting inside…. "Oh, I don't think that'll be a problem, bleachy."

Spike eyed him in a suspiciousy way. Xander just grinned wider. "What're you on about, boy?"

"Can you imagine Slayer Central if I showed up dressed like Angelus?"

Spike's eyebrows went up, then went down again, this time with the pink tip of his tongue sliding out a bit.

Xander's grin shifted into a more affectionate amusement. "Like that idea, huh?"

"Might do, pet."

"I've never been a leather pants fan, but if you buy me some, I'll—"

Spike's growling, along with the sudden knocking on the door shut up him up. Spike sneered again, then slumped into his throne-chair. "It's the government gits again."

"Oh for the…." Xander stomped over to the door and flung it open. DiNozzo had his hand up, about to knock, with Gibbs frowning beside him. "Unless you've got the bad jailed guy in the trunk of your car, this can wait until tomorrow."

DiNozzo looked down. "I thought you'd be more of a Princess Leia fan than a Yoda fan."

Xander looked down, too. Nothing was sticking out inappropriately and his Yoda briefs were clean. He refused to be embarrassed, even though this was just about as bad as the time in high school when, well, there were too many to choose from. "I gotta date. Good bye." Xander tried to slam the door, but Gibbs caught it.

"We need to have a word with you," Gibbs was saying while stepping forward. He ran into Xander who had no intention of moving.

"Yeah, about that. We don't need to have a word with you so, bye now."

Gibbs apparently didn't want to get into a wrestling match with a guy in his best Yoda briefs. Gibbs shot a few looks down the hallway. "It's about Wilder."

Xander put on his expectant face.

"Inside."

"Let 'em in, pet."

At least Spike was dressed this time. Just missing his usual silk shirt and his duster. Xander backed up to let them in, and glared at Spike. "You are so not the boss of me."

"Mr. Harris, Mr. Spike," Gibbs said, looking directly at Spike with the kind of _gonna kill it before it kills me_ intensity some of Riley's buddies had on whenever they'd been around on patrol. DiNozzo hovered anxiously, somewhere between backing up Gibbs and bolting out of the door.

Xander dug the last clean pair of jeans out of his duffel and tugged them on.

Spike was obviously just as impressed as he was, because he tossed off a two fingered flip off and said, "Wanker. Lackey."

Gibbs tightened up a bit around the mouth, but he had a hell of a poker face. Spike, if anything, just lounged his way into his amused Shere Kahn impression. DiNozzo shrugged and stared in open fascination at Spike.

"Out with it, wanker. What's in your jail?"

"The hair burned black."

"Great," Xander said after he finished pulling on his best tee shirt. It was a white Hanes that he wore for important meetings. "I knew Ethan didn't raise the dead."

"Ethan?" DiNozzo flicked his eyes toward Xander for a moment, then back to Spike.

Spike quirked a lip. "'M not a trick pony, boy."

Xander shrugged. "Yeah. Anyway. You guys just do what you do best. It can't cause trouble in jail, especially since it thinks it's a human."

There might have been a bit of squirming in the two cops.

"You told it, then?" Spike said.

"It noticed something was wrong," Gibbs said flatly.

Xander huffed. How stupid could you be? "It didn't occur to you to take the hair to another room and burn it? I've seen Law and Order. You could have told it you were drug testing it or something."

"Not without a court order."

"Shouldn't much matter anyway. Homonculi don't have any powers and if it talks, you humans will just think it's gone off its nut." Spike made a shooing motion with his fingers, as if he couldn't be bothered to give his full attention. "Now that's settled, bugger off."

Gibbs stood his ground. "We need to discuss options."

Xander rolled his eye. "Just prosecute him. It's not like anyone can tell he's not human, well, unless you have a vampire there to test all of your criminals."

Gibbs shook his head. "Not good enough. We need to know how to deal with this thing. Meet us 10 am tomorrow, room 708."

"Piss off."

Gibbs looked pretty ready to start shooting. DiNozzo spread his hands out. "We can't just put it in prison as if it were human. We don't know what we're dealing with and we don't want anyone to get hurt. More importantly, we don't want that thing to get away with what it did, or to get loose to do it to something, er, someone else."

Spike grunted then, eyes narrowed. "You're up to something."

DiNozzo flashed a grin. It was shakey. "Always am, but I'm right about this."

There was several moments of silence. Xander tried to figure out what to say or do. Spike tilted his head. "All right. We'll meet." Spike smirked then. "Just remember, lackey, I'm the only thing stopping me from eating you. Don't fuck us over."

"Wow, Spike, an Americanism!"

Spike tilted his head, looking more at Xander than the feds. He had his amused with you face on. "We've used fuck in Jolly Old long before anyone in America spoke English."

"Fine, bring history into it if you have to, fang face." Xander scrunched his face up.

"Will do, pet."

"Let's go, DiNozzo," Gibbs said. "Harris." Gibbs bobbed his head in Xander's general direction, one of those super manly, hey man, I'm the dude, head bobs. Gibbs then glared at Spike, before turning around and heading for the door.

"Be careful, wanker. Never know when something's looking at your neck."

"Spike," Xander said. Well, it might have been a whine instead of a said, but he didn't think it was a whine. But it might have been because, really, this was Spike and Spiteful Spike was a Sexy Spike.

The door shut behind the feds with a decisive click, one that said Gibbs would rather it had been a slam. Spike bounced to his feet. "Let's go."

Xander frowned at him. "You weren't in this big of a hurry before they got here. You were more interested in looking for footie on the telly."

Spike gave him a look that reminded him of the last time Buffy had smelled his shoes. "You are never to say footie or telly again. It's worse than Angelus' singing voice. Don't do it."

Xander rolled his eye. "Whatever, fang face. Why are you in such a hurry all of the sudden, anyway?"

"The jail is a mile away. Shouldn't have taken six hours for them to wander down there, burn a bit of hair, and return, should it? They did something, something we won't like."

Xander was back to frowny face. "That's not a good thing."

"Was planning to take you to a pub or two, show off my pet Scoobie."

"Hey! Not a pet."

Spike scoffed. "Now, think we'll drop by a demon I know, works for your government. See what's doing with these two." 

"Demons work for the government? That explains the IRS."


	5. Chapter Five

Gibbs stalked around room 709 and desperately wished he had wood and sandpaper on hand. DiNozzo was kicked back on one of the queen beds, watching him in undisguised amusement. "Give it a rest, Boss. Nothing you can do now but wait. You always say to sleep while you can."

Gibbs didn't bother to answer. Instead, he pictured throwing grains of rice in front of that punk vampire to slow it down. According the myth he vaguely remembered, a vampire would be forced to stop and count each grain of rice before it could continue. It also could not cross water—which was obviously untrue as the punk vampire was British and the only way to America was over water—and could not see its reflection, because silver was pure and rejected the inherent impurity within a vampire. From the curtains duct taped to the wall in the vampire's room, the sunlight thing was probably true. He wondered how much of anything he'd heard about vampires was true. If he'd had wood, he'd carve a stake.

"Boss," Tony whined.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs growled, to shut him up.

"It's nine. Not my usual bedtime, but it's still late enough for a snooze. We can get up early and get some coffee before the meeting."

Gibbs paused, grunted, and then continued making his way around the room.

"Okay, that's it. I'm going into the other room to get some shut eye. You do what you want."

Gibbs blocked the path. "No. You'll stay here. That _thing_ knows where that room is at. No need to give it any more advantages."

Tony rolled his eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. "Fine," he huffed, drawing the i sound out like a put-upon teenaged girl would. "Then _you_ go next door and I'll get some sleep _here_."

"I'll take first watch." Gibbs suited action to words by sitting in the chair near the window and the rattling air conditioner.

"That's so much better. Boss, the only difference between now and last night is that last night, you didn't know. If something happens, it happens. Wearing a hole the rug over the Billy Idol version of Bela Lugosi won't do any good. It'll just make you jumpy and tired. If Punk Dracula shows up, then we'll shoot him. Otherwise, what are you going to do? Call Abby and try to figure out what things you've heard about vampires are true? The only thing she'd do is run right down here to meet him, and you know it." Tony laced his fingers behind his head and grinned. "Get some rest, Boss. That's an order."

Gibbs fingers curled on themselves. "It's a vampire," he heard himself say.

Tony sat up and regarded him for a moment. Gibbs expected a cutting wisecrack, the kind he'd slap McGee with. Instead, in the same voice he used when Abby was feeling off, Tony said, "Yeah, it is."

"I," Gibbs looked away. "I can't protect you from it." Where did this diarrhea of the mouth come from? He knew better than that. He _was_ better than that.

Tony was silent for a while, just watching him. Gibbs stared at the wall, unwilling to acknowledge, well, anything. He remembered that raw terror gurgling inside him, over powered only by the incredible need to kill the vampire. He'd never faced anything like that in his life, no matter how bad combat had gotten, NCIS had gotten, his personal life. Nothing.

Tony shifted around in the bed, getting under the covers. He was clothed but for shoes, socks, belt, and the stuff he'd emptied from his pockets. His naked toes made him seem oddly vulnerable to harm, before they disappeared beneath the sheets. "You'll do your best, Boss, just like you always do. And it will be good enough. Try to get some sleep and tomorrow, we'll get some tips from Harris."

Gibbs grunted again. It was better than speaking.

Tony snapped off the light, leaving only the florescent glow from the bathroom near the door. The sounds of Tony burrowing into his pillow and cuddling into the blanket lasted for a few moments. Gibbs listened for a while, through the rattle of the air conditioner, until Tony's breathing had steadied, settled, and deepened. Gibbs itched a bit, deep inside of himself where he couldn't scratch it. Instead, he stood up silently, toed off his own shoes, and crossed the room. Tony mumbled something about boss, on it, and Dracula when Gibbs settled in the bed next to him. 

Gibbs sat there, as he knew he would for the rest of the night, back propped against the wall, his holstered weapon at ready in his lap. He dozed, waiting for a break in the sounds of Tony's breathing or the oppressive quiet of the hallway to wake him up.

Tony's hand wormed out long enough to pat him on the leg. Tony breathed out a sated "boss", and then started snoring.

***

It took three pet stores—and wasn't that just humiliating?—for Spike to find the collar he preferred. Xander found the whole process frustrating because one, he didn't get a choice in the matter, and two, Spike forced him try them on. Well, some might argue the _forced_ part, but really, a pouting Spike working the eyes and the cheekbones and the accent? That was hitting below the belt.

Xander had extracted an on-his-soul promise from Spike with the first collar try on, though. Halloween was coming up, and he planned to spend it with Spike in London, adjacent to Slayer Central. Spike was going to wear a costume of Xander's choice, providing it befitted the image of a Master Vampire. Xander would be Jack Harkness and Spike would be Captain John Hart. Spike could do a better John Hart than anyone. There was something very pornographic about Spike wearing everything but a shirt. And carrying a sword. 

Still, it was really embarrassing, like Giles catching him jacking off levels of embarrassing, when Spike finally picked a collar, ripped off the tags, put it on Xander, paid for it grudgingly, and then trucked back into the same clerk, who was making like a largemouth bass, to buy tokens for a stupid machine near the door where he had "Spike's Boy" engraved on a dog bone tag. Spike complained, loudly, through the entire engraving process about the lack of railroad spike tags available.

"You realize that I'm going to make you suffer for this," Xander said.

"Whatever makes you happy. Lift your chin. There's a pet."

Xander harrumphed like Old Man Travers had done back when everyone was still in high school, including Giles, and lifted his chin. A few tugs later and Spike stood back to admire his handiwork.

"Should do, pet. Have to kit you out properly later."

Xander crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "If I'd known about the dog bone, you never would have got away with limiting my costume choices for Halloween. I'd be going as Jack Sparrow and you'd be going as Elizabeth."

"Too late now. Time to go."

The first stop, now that the accessorizing was out of the way, was a restaurant Cordelia would have been caught dead in, unlike all of the places Xander had suggested taking her to, once upon a time. And exactly how the janitor's closets were a leaps and bounds above the Doublemeat Palace on coupon day, he'd like to know.

Spike sauntered in, all hip-shot and slinky, like he owned the place. His trained duster billowed around his legs like seething cats with claws. His hair was fully shellacked into complete obedience, and his smirk was cutting enough to dust a fledge. Xander followed behind him, amused at the various expressions on the various demony faces. A few of them made Xander wish he'd brought along his silver dagger for his first date with Spike. A whiny hostess, with pale blue skin, hopped along beside Xander, complaining about Xander's "master". Xander stopped, faced the half-demon, and bared his teeth. The half-demon squealed and backed up. In the meantime, Spike threw a Bracchen out of a chair and bared fangs at its dining buddy, who followed its friend out of the door. 

"Pet," Spike said, seating himself and looking bored.

"Spike," Xander said, glaring around them.

Spike kicked the other chair, scooting it out a bit more.

Xander pointed to the salad the Bracchen had left behind. "I'm not eating that. It has cooties."

He could feel the itch of every eye in the place on him. Not on Spike, who had himself on display and enjoyed every second of it, but on him. The back-up guy, the fray adjacent guy, the guy who looked plain and boring next to a slayer.

"'S fine, pet. Kitchen'll bring you fresh if they know what's good for 'em."

Xander glared around the room, then sat in the chair Spike had kicked.

The hostess wibbled just out of range, making noises that were vaguely English and vaguely chipmunk.

Spike pulled out a cigarette and didn't look at the hostess. "Bring my boy fresh. Steak, medium rare."

"I, I, I'll get your waiter."

Spike stuck the cigarette in his mouth. "Don't bother. I'm not hungry."

The hostess squeaked something.

Spike's eyes bore into her. The hostess's squeaking went away. Spike pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "If I get peckish, I'll look you up, yeah?"

The hostess made a blue streak straight for the kitchens.

Spike looked around the restaurant without looking like he was looking around. Xander would have loved to know how to do that trick. Instead, he sat there and glared at things. Hell, he was the pet. He didn’t exactly have a reputation amongst demons to uphold. Did he? No, not so much. Instead, he kind marveled at how his first date with Spike was going. The last bunch of first dates he'd had were kind of lukewarm and hadn't led to second dates, though some led to one night stands. He'd sat across from his date at some restaurant or coffee shop and tried to be suave and witty while his date had done the same. They swapped stories. They gave each other the eyes. This date with Spike was completely different. He and Spike barely paid attention to each other. Spike lounged in his seat, more interested in what the other patrons were thinking than in him, and he sat there wondering if he'd brought along enough protection in case the date ended sooner than expected. Not that he'd have much use for the tucked away stake or the condom in his pocket. It was like dating Cordy or Anya. He smiled. Spike was perfect for him. 

"What's got you smiling, pet?"

"Just thinking. You're perfect for me and I should have brought my silver dagger."

"Likely won't need it with this crowd." Spike sneered at the restaurant in general. "Might be big in local demon politics, but not a set of bollocks among the lot of them."

Xander eyed a pretzel, well, the demon was more formally known as something unpronounceable except by Gilesy and Willowy people, but sounded a lot like pretzel to normal, Xandery people. He knew for a fact that none of the sexes in pretzel demons had bollocks. Tentacles and stuff that was way too much like jello for him to ever eat jello again after Cleveland a couple of years ago, but no bollocks. "So why are we here?"

"Waiting on Tchort." 

It sounded like tuh-court with the t sound swallowed somewhere by the molars. "Gesundheit." Xander didn't think he could get his tongue to do that. And then Xander made himself not think about what else Spike's tongue could do if Spike could get his tongue to do that.

"Name of that demon what works for your government. Should be here soon. He'd like to dust me, so keep an eye out, pet."

Xander licked his lips and pushed tongues out of his brain. Bad brain. "Consider it kept out. Uh, what works on this guy?"

"Silver. Use the butter knife."

Xander eyed the thing. It had some butter and Bracchen prints all over it. "I knew I should have brought my silver dagger. Hey, why's he wanna kill you anyway?"

Spike shrugged with one shoulder. "He owes me three kittens. He welshes."

"Great. Government type that doesn't pay. He's with the IRS, right?"

Spike grinned. "No, pet. Look sharp, he's coming."

A tallish man, looked completely human, in a black suit with a black leather jacket strode in, paused a moment, and then came directly to their table. He stood over them, arms crossed. His posture was upright and relaxed, like the top dog of the top dogs. Spike smirked and continued to lounge.

"I see it's true," the demon guy said. Huh. He sounded vaguely British and not at all American governmentish, which tended to sound very Americanly boring. Like a news reporter. "You've picked up the Slayer's Knight for a pet." The guy didn't look as impressed as Spike seemed to think all of the demons in town would be. "Of course, you've been the slayer's pet for a while, yourself. You're not coming up in the world, Spike." 

"You're involved in human business, Tchort."

Demon guy lifted his lips like a snarling dog does.

Spike's bored now face didn't change. "Human business has come to my door."

"You want my help."

Spike smirked again. "You're the demon to see."

"This clears our debt."

"It's _human_ business." Spike sounded all disdainfully and disgusted, like someone was talking about being the grease boy at the Doublemeat rather than doing carpentry. "Drop a kitten off. The silver point Siamese."

Tchort took the seat across from them both. "What human business is it?"

"Grumpy bloke named Gibbs from—"

"NCIS."

Xander did his best not to grin. This was like a tennis match and his team was winning.

Spike lifted an eyebrow.

Tchort curled his fingers into fists and, for a second, made a Tony Harris just ate a vegetable on accident face. "I know him."

"He a problem?"

Tchort tilted his head and regarded Spike for a while. Xander made himself not grab the butter knife. Tchort finally said, "Depends on what this is about."

Spike smiled his you're an idiot and I'm probably going to have fun killing you soon smile. "You know what this is about."

"The Initiative doctor in jail. Wilder. What do you want from me?"

"Gibbs and his boy are up to something. I want to know what it is."

Tchort scowled. "I don't spend my time watching Jethro Gibbs."

"You're an information broker, mate. You know what's what about this town. What's Gibbs up to?"

Tchort settled into his chair. "Two kittens. The spotted Manx and the Selkirk."

Spike tilted his head. "If the information is good. If not, you'll owe me another Selkirk."

Tchort grinned then, his even white teeth gleaming, and then getting pointy. It wasn't fangy, like Spike's dental nightmare, but pointy like a row of shark teeth. And gleamy white. It was completely unnatural with the man's almost black face stubble, shaved head, and his black leather jacket. "It's good."

"Deal, mate."

"Gibbs and his minion, DiNozzo, were spotted leaving your hotel earlier this afternoon. He went directly to the jail holding Wilder."

Spike got his really impatient, gonna rip someone idiot's head off and roar in their dust face on. "I knew that."

"They spent about thirty minutes at the jail, where they interviewed Wilder. After that, they had coffee."

"You're about to owe four kittens."

Tchort smiled, shark toothy and everything. Demon smiles were nothing like person smiles. Person smiles were about being happy and being sympathetic. Demon smiles were about growling and fighting, even when there was no growling or fighting going on. "From there, they went to the Secretary of the Navy's house. They spoke with Secnav for about an hour and then left. I don't know what they talked about. Yet. They went shopping, then checked into your hotel." Tchort's smiled widened. "Rooms 708 and 709."

Spike turned the butter knife near his own plate over, and then over, and then over. "Not worth two kittens. Knock off the Selkirk."

Tchort didn't exactly frown, but it was an unhappy kind of thoughtful face. "You know what this is about."

Spike smirked. "'Course."

All of the muscles in Tchort's face and neck bunched up. "The Initiative coming back?"

Spike shrugged. "Never left."

Tchort snorted. "What's left of them are a few squads chasing fyarl and polgara in Bolivia. They play with their toys and keep the idiot populations down. They aren't Initiative. They're barely still a part of the marines."

Xander nodded. This was true. Riley led a squad, his buddy Gates led another squad, and some chick named Wiseheimer led the third squad. They reported to a general that worked out of the Pentagon but didn't spend a lot of time there. Actually, the general spent a weird amount of time on golf courses and kept wanting to take Xander golfing because, apparently, Xander was like him in some way. Which didn't make sense. He remembered being a soldier for Halloween, but he didn't remember _being_ a soldier for Halloween. Maybe it was the five daughters the general had. It was like being around a group of slayers and only one bathroom. Anyway. The Initiative these days. They didn't conduct experiments, but they did maintain space on a marine base where they kept their weapons and kept Ethan Rayne in jail. Pretty much not so effective anymore. Except for the Ethan Rayne in jail part. That was of the good.

"They kept Angelman."

Tchort snorted all disdainly again.

Spike turned the butter knife over again. "Cost you another spotted Manx to find out."

"I can find out on my own."

Spike smirked. "Can you, now."

"Maine Coon."

"Male calico."

"Ridiculous. Persian. White."

Spike paused in his butter knife turning over festivities. "White Persian, then."

"Agreed."

"I'm meeting Gibbs and his boy tomorrow morning. Have no respect for a decent day's sleep, they don't."

"Not worth the Persian."

"Angelman isn't human. An homunculus created by a chaos mage. Initiative tits thought the mage raised Angelman from the dead. Gibbs and his boy, and I suspect that Secnav bloke now, want to discuss _options_."

"Homonculus?" Tchort was definitely making an unhappy shark face. "This could be very bad."

"Got it in one, mate."

Xander frowned his own thoughtful frown. "Uh, how could this be bad?"

"Gibbs and his boy, they'll do nothing with the dolly. Send it to jail like a bad boy and wash their hands of it, they will," Spike said with an indulgent smile. Xander knew it was indulgent because it was the same look he gave Dawn when he brought her presents. Tchort stopped with the psycho-demon eyeballing of Spike and glared at him. Spike appeared to ignore that and just kept up with the awww, isn't he cute smile. "The Secnav bloke, though. He's a power in your government. Military power. He might have other plans for it. Why would he be interested in the dolly? No reason to be unless he wants to do something with it." Spike paused a moment, serious face falling into place. "Hard to make an homunculus the first time out. But nearly any mage can duplicate one. Bit of a chant, whiff of fairy dust, and we'll be crawling in Nazi scientists."

"We need to get rid of it," Tchort said.

"That was the plan all along," Xander said. "Let it go to jail, wait until they're not paying attention, then get it."

"May not have time now, pet." Spike glared at the waiter, who was inching his way closer with a tray that held a steak on it. The waiter quit breathing, set the plate down, and ran away. "We'll see what the plodder and this Secnav git have to say. After that, might have Red fetch us the dolly if we can't get to it."

"Red?" Tchort said as if he had no clue who Red might be, which was kinda ridiculous considering that Tchort knew who Xander was without being introduced and Willow was totally a major player in the whole demon thing. Tchort tucked his chin down a bit, which made him look all glarey and loomy.

"Witch." Spike waved a hand. "They can take the dolly, but Red can find it."

Xander thought about opening his mouth about Willow's supposed powers, but decided he'd just shut up. Maybe Spike thought Willow really could just pull something she'd never seen and didn't know where it was through time and space. Maybe Spike was playing games. Spike and lying were on much friendlier terms than Spike and the truth, which was kind of odd because Spike was a crappy liar, about as crappy as Willow, actually, if you knew how to read the Spike signals. So maybe he wasn't as crappy a liar as all that, but he couldn't lie to the Scoobies without a glamour.

Tchort abruptly nodded. "I'll play it your way. For now. If I hear that anything, and I mean _any_ thing, goes wrong, I'll wear your dust."

Spike sneered. "You can try. You'll find your face in the ground, again."

Tchort stood up and glared. "Don't fuck this up, Spike. I'll be watching."

Spike tossed him a two fingered salute.

Xander watched Tchort turn around and stalk away. "Okay, that was no IRS guy."

"Told you that already, pet. He works for your CIA." Spike sneered toward the door, where Tchort had just gone through. "Stupid t'kla. Bloody information brokers lowering themselves to work in human business. Demons these days."

"Hey, you're my boyfriend, not my grandfather. No back in the good old days stories or young whippersnapper comments out of you, fang face."

"Don't be mouthy, pet. Eat your steak."

Xander prodded at the steak with a fork. "I bet that blue girl you scared the hell out of it spit on it. Anyway, what are we doing after this?"

"Gonna take you dancing. See if I can teach you anything."

"I've outgrown my seizure meets robot style of dancing."

"There's dancing, and then there's _dancing_ , pet."

"Not seeing a difference here, fang face."

Spike grinned. "You will."

At a demon club, not Varshall's, Xander discovered the difference between dancing and _dancing_. One was moving with the music and the other was rubbing penises. Penii. Naughty bits together. Xander thought about trying to have some kind of conversation that involved talking rather than rubbing and moshy techno trash, but decided against it. Too loud and it wasn't like he wanted every Tom, Dick, and fyarl to know his business. On the whole, however, Spike seemed rather taken with Xander's style of dancing and _dancing_. This was good because he was very into Spike's style of _dancing_. He wondered what it would be like to do it in the hotel room, without an audience of demons, and without clothes on. Or the air conditioner. He liked getting hot and sweaty with Spike.

When Spike was bored with dancing, or whatever the whole back stiffening and grunty growly thing was, Spike hooked a finger through the ring on Xander's collar and used that to tow Xander back toward their table. There would be some sternly worded finger pointing on that subject in Spike's future. 

The table towing was just a mere formality. Or something. Spike tossed back what was left of his whiskey, something Xander the not-roofie-proof human would never have done, and pulled on his duster, something Xander the not-Big-Bad would never have left unattended, and then towed Xander toward the door by the collar ring again. Xander planted his feet and made it difficult enough for Spike to stop and frown at him. Xander crossed his arms and glared right back. "Not a pet!" 

Spike thought it over for a moment, the lightning flash of his various moods and schemes working through his eyes, and then took Xander's hand and towed him outside with that instead. If it hadn't felt like a leash, Xander might have chalked that into the win column.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The golf pants Xander didn't get to wear can be found here: [Loudmouth](http://loudmouthgolf.com/). I didn't pick a particular pair, but the entire collection has always screamed Xander Harris to me.
> 
> Points if you can guess which NCIS character Tchort is. :)


	6. Chapter Six

Spike towed him through the front doors, around the corner, and down the building toward the back, where he stopped and took up his most arrogant, Big Bad's gonna kick some bootie stance.

"Seventeen," Riley said, emerging from the shadows around the back door of the demon bar.

"Nazi," Spike said, sneering.

Xander peered around the alley. It was more a Law and Order type back alley than the Bronze back alley, what with slimey brick walls colored oxidation orange on all sides but two and stinky dumpsters overflowing with disgusting kitchen things, probably even disgustinger than that because, hey, demon bar. "Hey, Riley."

"Hi, Xander."

Spike tilted his head a bit. "Now the pleasantries are over, why are you lot following me?" 

"Not following, finding. We want you to back off of Wilder."

"Not bloody likely."

"You have to, Se-Spike. Wilder is," Riley's hands twitched up and open, "he's important."

Xander could sense the pre-fight snark about to tear its way out of Spike and stepped bravely into the breach, whatever that was. "Okay, let's all calm down. No ripping off of heads and calling people by numbers like they're a part of a socket set."

Spike bared fangs at Riley for a moment, but subsided. For now, no doubt.

Riley didn't look happy.

"Okay. Good." Xander tried a smile on for size, but it didn't seem to fit either his face or the circumstances. "Now, Riley, why do we want to leave that guy in jail? Seems like a bad plan to me."

Riley grimaced. "He did break the law." Riley glared at Spike. "And soul or no soul, we can't allow murder."

Spike huffed in a breath.

Xander stepped forward, putting himself a little more between the two. "Leaving a guy like that where the Initiative can get their hands on him if they ever wanted to start up with the evil incorporated again is not the way to go."

Riley frowned. "We're keeping an eye on him."

"'Spect it's like leaving the pimp to guard the prostitute," Spike said.

Xander pursed his lips and tried to look all authority figure and Giles-y—who was way better than Picard—with a dash of Kirk. "I wouldn’t put it like that, but I'm going to have to go with Spike on this one." Actually, considering the whole Ripper deal, Giles was like a Picardian Kirk. Or Kirkian Picard?

Riley actually looked a little bit hurt by that. "We're not like that anymore. We do good things now. We only slay the demons that are up to no good. We check before we slay."

Spike snorted. " _You_ may. You've got no real authority. Them that hold your leash…." Spike shrugged and pulled out a cigarette. 

Xander's head bobbed. "He's pretty much right, Riley. You and your squad are really good guys and General Mitchell is a great guy, even if he wouldn't let me wear those cool pants that matched my shirt when we went golfing, but, well, we've got people like the Navy's secretary getting their panties in a twist over this guy and I don't like it."

Riley frowned. "Why is Secnav interested?"

"Well, that Gibbs guy you talked to went and blabbed to him and now we've got a meeting or something. Speaking of meetings and Secnavs, Spike, you should so not go."

"Son of a bitch." Riley did everything but stomp his foot. "I told him to drop it!"

"Well, he kinda didn't. They're pretty smart down there at NCIS. I bet Gibbs would make a pretty good Watcher."

Both Riley and Spike glared at him. He grinned back, feeling rather pleased at the totally unexpected getting-along of Riley and Spike. Even though it wouldn't last long at all.

"So, murder is a bad thing," Xander mused.

Spike frowned in a really cute, confused way. Riley frowned in a don't go there way. "Yes, Xander," Riley said with extreme patience. "Murder is a bad thing. It's such a bad thing that you, personally, took great pains to point out how bad murder was to me in great detail over the course of several excruciatingly long weeks."

"No, I was just thinking. Sometimes murder isn't really murder."

"Didn't know your morals were slippery, pet." Spike did not sound happy about that.

"Not slippery at all. No slippery morals for the Xan-man. Not even a hint of slipperiness on my morals. But killing a fledge or a fyarl isn't murder, is it? Bracchen, yeah, polgara, not so much. The jury is still out on the t'kla."

Spike grinned. "Brilliant."

Riley's frown went from don't go there to confused, only not very cute. "What?"

Spike turned the grin on Riley. "We know something you don't."

"About Wilder," Xander added.

Riley looked away for a moment, then squared his shoulders. "I know he was brought back from the dead."

"Uh, that would be a no. Ethan's sense of self-preservation has been honed to near perfection, for a somewhat bad guy." Xander stuff his hands in his pockets to stop from rubbing them together in joy. "The thing in jail is a homunculus."

"An homunculus, pet. Silent h."

Xander shrugged. "Po-tay-to, po-tah-to, Alex Trebek. Huh, uh, different sounds, same magical construct."

"Secnav knows this. It's why he's involved, isn't it?"

"Pretty much, yeah. Anyway, it's not human, it's not good, and we were really only going to leave it in custody long enough for it to have reasonably staged an escape. Well not so much with the escaping as with the getting rid of it and making the navy cops think it was all with the escaping instead of the being gotten rid of."

"Not the real thing, what put the chip in my head," Spike said, "but close enough." Spike sighed, long and lusty. "Shoulda just let the lawyers get it out so I could kill it."

"And again with the government would so know about what you're up to."

The look Willow used to give him when they were on the playground in elementary school and he used to tell her that he really did accidentally slip and fall on the sidewalks when the girls in skirts were going to walk by, Spike was giving him that look. "Of course you're right, pet, the government hasn't a clue about me. 'M not standing in front of Captain Cardboard. 'M not meeting navy cops and the man what runs the American navy. 'M nice and safely tucked away in your attic in my nappies."

"Yeah, well, okay but that was different. We thought he was still human and that would not have been okay."

Riley sighed. "Look, all I want to know is if you're planning on killing it or not, Se-Spike."

"Would like to, but not as such, no."

"Good. Fine. We've got this understanding with Angel. He doesn't kill people and we don't try to kill him. We actually wouldn't because Giles has that covered, but at least he doesn't have to look over his shoulder. Willow assures us that you're," Riley grimaced, "that you have a soul. We'll extend the same courtesy to you."

Spike sneered and flipped Riley the British bird.

"I'll go tell my superiors about the homunculus, but we're attached to the Corps. Secnav is the top of our food chain."

Xander frowned. "How long has this guy been in charge?"

Riley pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. "Long enough that he could have been a part of the brass that set up Sunnydale Initiative."

Xander nodded. "I see."

Spike shook his head, eyes turning a bit yellow. "If this git is thinking to start up his demon clockworks again, I will kill him."

Riley nodded, all sincere serious face. "And if he is, I won't notice when you do."

"Let's go, pet." Spike turned around and left without looking back at Riley, or even Xander for that matter.

Xander frowned at the swirly duster for a moment. Then he turned to Riley. "It's been good to see you, Riley. You be careful out there, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Um, say hi to Buffy for me, will you?"

Xander didn't even pretend to smile. "Yeah, will do." Totally not.

He had to jog to catch up to Spike, who had hung a left at the sidewalk and kept right on going. Once he did catch up, he had to take really long steps to keep up. It was kind of exhausting. After the fifteenth block, it was really exhausting. By the time they hit the hotel, Xander was sweaty and tired. Not that he'd had any plans for any action, maybe some smoochage, but his only action plan now was hopefully shower before bed. Spike, thank everything holy, decided on the elevator.

"You know," Xander said between uncaught breaths, "I'm used to some heavy exercise, but keeping up with a vamp is hard on humans when there's any real distance involved. Just a reminder."

Spike flared his nostrils, but said nothing. Odd.

Spike didn't take it much slower to the room. Xander followed a bit more slowly, but not slowly enough to not catch the door when Spike didn't hold it for him. Xander stood in the little hallway thing between the door and the room, confused. Spike tossed his duster onto one of the beds and flopped into his throne-chair. He pulled a cigarette out, lit it, and shotgunned it. He pulled another, lit it, and let it burn in the casually careless droop of his hand.

"Spike?"

Spike's eyes flicked toward him and then back to the middle distance, or the wall, whichever one he was staring at with studious uncaringness.

Xander stepped further into the room. "Uh, what's going on?"

Spike took a drag, then said. "Middle of my day."

Xander frowned. "Mine, too, actually. Why the hot and cold running vamp routine?"

Spike looked at him then, right in the eyes. Eye. The weight of their shared history itched suddenly in the empty socket. Something really soft, and then painful flashed across Spike's face, and then was gone. Spike looked more like one of Drusilla's dolls than the dolls did. "Done all we need to, whelp."

"What?"

Spike took another drag and blew it out slowly. "Know what's happening with the doc now, don't I? Not much to do about it. You call me when you lot decide to break it out of jail. I've an interest in getting rid of it."

Xander's frowny face frowned more. "Uh, this sounds an awful lot like a brush off."

Spike shrugged. "You have your meet with the plodders and navy man. I've a flight out to LA after sunset."

Xander's fingers went up to the collar he still wore. "But…"

Spike smirked. "Impressed the locals, yeah? Keep it. Souvenir."

"I, I see."

"Good that you do, pet." The smirk deepened. "Give Buffy m' love."

Xander turned it over in his head a few times, waiting for the ah-ha lightbulb moment that would take away the lump in his throat. Or waiting for Spike to laugh it off like it was a joke. Spike just stared into the middle distance, didn't even turn on the TV. Sat there, looking all relaxed.

Looking relaxed. Xander took off the collar, held it in his hands. The tag glinted a bit. A stupid dog bone that Spike had picked out because it reminded him of Xander's eyes. Eyes, not eye. Xander tossed the collar on the bed. "I won't need it. I have a better souvenir."

Spike's face twitched a bit, but he didn't move. 

Xander ran a finger over the cheek beneath his one eye. "I have this because of you."

Spike sneered. It looked totally fake. "Did it for the slayer."

Xander smiled. "No you didn't, you big faker. You did it because you're Spike."

The sneer deepened. "So this," Spike waved a hand, "was all about gratitude. Throw old Spike a bone because he can't pull the slayer? Is that it?"

Wow, that sounded really wounded. "You know why demons call me the One Who Sees?"

Spike shrugged again. Oh no, Mr. Smooth Vamp. Xander had his number now.

"I don't see the future, but when I pull my head out of my ass, I do a really good job of seeing the truth. And you know what? The truth doesn't always hurt, even when we're afraid of it. Know what happens when a Big Bad feels fear? He attacks."

The fangs flashed out. "I'm not afraid of you, boy."

Xander smiled. "Nope. You're not. I don't know what scares you, but I doubt it's anything living or dead."

Spike sneered again, the vamplies slipping away.

"You didn't pull a slayer, but they're a dime a dozen these days. You pulled me." Xander felt himself fully relax. This was right. "And I'm special. I'm so special, I deserve you."

Spike sniffed. "Right. What sort of prize do you take me for? A bauble you can dangle from your arm as you see fit?"

"Huh?"

"It's all dancing, kittens, and fledge killing with me, until it's time for the serious business. Then it's Spike can't come like some tarted up housewife."

"Again I say, huh?"

Spike glared at him. "The meeting."

Xander blinked. The meeting? Oh. "Oh. That. I kinda thought you'd want to skip hanging out with the top military guy."

Spike glared all that much harder. "I am not a fainting flower."

"Nope. You are so not. Not floweryish at all. More like cattish. A big, dangerous cat with long teeth and claws and danger."

"Don't need to put me in short pants and pat me on the head in front of the toy soldier."

Xander thought about that comment he'd made, kind of tossed off in conversation. He didn't remember the exact words he'd used, but they were like the suggestions he made to slayers all of the time, ones that were tactical or put the slayer's welfare above the problem of the day. He could totally see how Spike wouldn't appreciate that. He sat down on the bed, kind of impressed he'd stayed standing that long. "I'm sorry, Spike. I take care of the people I really care about. Since they're all either slayers, super witches, or Giles, it's a habit to kind of give orders."

"'M a vampire. You're a human. It's a _habit_ that I either eat you or give you orders. Did I give you a single order today?"

"A few."

Spike scowled. 

"You towed me around by the collar. You, um, huh. Well, okay, that was pretty much it."

"Asked you. I didn't order you."

Xander felt like a world class jerk. "I'm sorry Spike."

"If you can't respect me, you can't have me."

"I'll try my best not to do it again."

Spike stared at him for a few minutes, long enough that Xander had to fight off the urge to squirm. Then Spike smiled. For reals. Xander smiled back.

"So, uh, the date part of the evening's festivities," Xander said. "Uh, was it, well, you know, uh—"

"It was good, Xander. After the do in LA, we'll go see this tribute band of yours. Talk about how things'll go on, yeah?"

"Yeah." Xander's inner Scooby-Doo was doing the Snoopy dance. "I guess I better call the airport and see if they can get a ticket for me on your plane."

"Don't bother. Private jet. It'll go when we want." Spike sighed. "Evil lawyers are good for something."

"So, we could leave now."

"Could. Just wake the pilot and give him a time."

"Why don't we do that? We can leave a note for the navy cops and just go. Not unless you want to have that meeting."

Spike shifted in the chair. "Best have it, pet. Tchort is right. Can't leave the dolly where the Initiative can use it, now they know it's not a human. Wouldn't take much for them to make their pet mage make a few more."

Xander shuddered. "No, no it wouldn't. Of course, no one says we have to have the meeting at ten. It's kind of rude to have a meeting in the middle of the night, right?"

"Could just go back down to the jail and kill it. Got a spell to get around security cameras. Not as satisfying as a spot of torture, but getting it done quickly would work."

Xander nodded at that. "How hard was it to get in the first time? I imagine they've beefed up patrols and stuff."

Spike frowned. "Probably. I'm not interested in getting shot full of holes before LA."

"I can call them."

"No, let's make the meeting. See if the Secnav bloke does put in the appearance you think he will."

Xander grimaced. "Yeah, okay. Not thrilled about being around a military power guy, though. I should have brought my axe."

Spike leered in a kind of over exaggerated manner. "Sexy, pet."

***

Tony shifted, and sniffled somewhere to the left. Gibbs opened his eyes and blinked, squeezing his lids together to bring the bland wallpaper across the room into focus. It was tilted. He was the tilted one, not the wall. His cheek was pillowed on something hard that made his molars sore from resting on it. Tony's shoulder. Slowly, so he wouldn't wake the man, Gibbs sat up. He checked his weapon, found it undisturbed in its holster between them on the bed. He didn't shift in his sleep. He didn't move. Trained too hard to move when he dozed off.

"You're thinking too hard, boss," Tony muttered. "It's too early for that. Go back to sleep."

Tony should be having a fit.

"If you get any tenser, you're going to break something."

Gibbs ground his teeth.

Tony sat up and rubbed his head, turning the bedhead into a mess of cowlicks. "Geez, boss, it's not like I haven't slept in the same bed with McGee, Kate or Ziva."

Gibbs glared at him. "Rule 12, Tony."

Tony twisted and narrowed his eyes. "Tony?"

Gibbs upped the glare intensity.

"I said slept in the same bed, not had sex."

"Go back to sleep, DiNozzo."

Tony flopped back down. "Just remember, you cuddled me first."

"So file a sexual harassment suit tomorrow. Go to sleep now."

Tony smiled, his teeth gleaming in the spare light from the bathroom. "Nope. No lawsuits. Maybe some bragging, though. Not even Abby has had full body Gibbs cuddles. Just me."

Gibbs frowned. "DiNozzo…."

Tony shrugged and yawned. "S'okay boss. Won't tell. Your cuddly secret is safe with me. Cuddle more if you wanna. You give good cuddle."

Gibbs watched Tony's eyes flicker shut and his lips part just enough to breathe through. Tony's muscles slowly relaxed, either deliberately or as a natural consequence of drifting off to sleep. Without really thinking about it, Gibbs slid his weapon under the pillow, within easy reach. He put his head down on the pillow and watched Tony sleep until it was hard to keep his own eyes open. Before he gave all the way into it and went to sleep, he rolled toward Tony, fitting their bodies together. He shifted a moment, until they were nestled. Tomorrow, he could regret this. Blame it on exhaustion or vampires. Now, he'd soak in the heat that he'd never feel again.

"Hey, Boss," Tony whispered.

"Go to sleep."

"Rule 12."

Gibbs felt his breathing even out a bit more. "Boss, not coworker."

"But—"

"Not in the Corps. 134 doesn't apply." Gibbs prodded the stomach beneath his hand. "Sleep."

"But NCIS has regu—"

"Make my own rules. Now go to sleep."

Tony didn't say anything else. Instead, he twisted, catlike, under the half hold Gibbs had him in. Gibbs barely had his eyes open before Tony kissed him. Not long, but long enough.

Gibbs relaxed the muscles he didn't know he'd tensed up and just went with it.

Tony pulled away, settled back into the bed, and smiled. "Night, Gibbs."

Gibbs huffed a breath, then decided to just get some rest.

***

It was nearly morning. Xander didn't have to use a clock to figure that out, he could watch the dawn arrive with the shift in Spike's aliveness. Even in the middle of the day, Spike was the most alive person Xander had ever known; but in the face of the dawn, something in Spike slowed and hushed itself. It was almost like Ripley or Hicks settling into the stasis bed for the coma-like snooze on the trip back to Earth. Even if he was sleeping or fighting, Spike would have this _deadness_ to him until the sun poked up over the horizon, and then he'd shake it off and go back to whatever he was doing. In this case, smoking a cigarette.

"Think you're right, pet," Spike said softly from his throne-chair, once the sun had crested. "We should leave. Call the wanker up."

Xander, who had settled into the bed to drowse a little, opened his eyes. "When?"

"Half hour. Give me time to sort the pilot and a car."

"Oh, okay." Xander let his eyes drift back shut.

"No, pet. Set the meeting in half hour." Spike sounded amused.

Xander forced himself to sit up, and then tossed Spike a sour look. Vampires. Go figure. He scooched over to the phone on the night stand and picked it up. He figured that since the meeting was in 708, the wank—Gibbs would probably be in 709, if the t'kla's info was any good. He dialed 709 and hoped he didn't wake up some poor tourist.

"Gibbs."

"Hey, I got the right number, cool!"

There was a moment of silence. "Harris?"

"Yeah. We'll be down to your place in about 30 minutes for the meeting. We've got things to do, places to be, and all that."

"Meeting's at 10."

"And yet, there you are, not doing a whole lot. Sounds like a fine time meet to me."

"There are things to do first."

"What? Breakfast? We'll catch that on the way out. Like I said, things to do and places to be." Xander smiled. "Besides, you seem to be a busy guy. Evil's only holiday is Halloween. Though, since people don't know that, they probably only take off Christmas and birthdays."

"We can't meet in 30 minutes."

"Well, then we'll skip it. You can give me your email address or something if you want, but we'll just watch the news and see what happens. Okay? Okay, cool. Nice meeting you and your buddy, but we've gotta go."

"Wait!" Gibbs sounded like he wanted to smack someone.

"What?"

"The Secretary of the Navy is coming to the meeting."

Xander decided to play stupid. "The secretary? Geez, what has her panties in a bunch? Buy her a latte and send her shoe shopping."

"Harris."

Spike was wearing a proud sort of smirk.

Xander grinned at him. "Gibbs."

"Just meet us at 10."

"We're not interested in meeting Secnav."

"Why not?"

"Duh. Military? Kidnapping people and putting behavior modification chips in their heads? Not interested. Well, unless he's a demon. Is he a demon? I hear they're involved with the IRS and all that stuff. Which really explains tax forms because those things look like English but they're not written in English, it's more like those stupid prophecies you find in Latin in the really old books that look like Latin, but it's more like a keltoi's butt snot and just tells you that on this day in October of two thousand, there will be blue in the hair of the person nearest the statue of a man holding a pipe on a horse, and that always turns out to be some idiot standing in a water fountain in Picadilly for some reason."

Gibbs didn't say anything. Spike chuckled.

Xander said, "So, spit it out. What kind of demon is he? We wanna come prepared. You never know if you need to bring fresh heart of virgin or some pecans. We use squirrel."

"He's not a demon."

"Okay then, well. Email us."

"He's in charge of the Initiative."

"And?"

Gibbs sighed. "He's the one who decides what happens to the thing in jail. If you have any interest in _that_ , then you'll come at 10."

"You know, Gibbs, world saving is nothing but long periods of fledge-staking and fyarl-stabbing boredom broken up by the moments of actual world saving. We're done with the fledge-staking part of the festivities. Time is your buddy, not ours."

Gibbs was silent for a moment—Xander got the feeling that negotiation really wasn't his thing—and then he said, "I'll call you back in 10 minutes."

"Fine."

Gibbs hung up before Xander could say anything else.

"Take it we're not meeting in thirty, pet?"

Xander shrugged. "Did get the confirm on Secnav. Secnav? It's kind of stupid and kind of works. We could change Giles from Head Librarian to Helib."

Spike arched an eyebrow. "Thought Rupert was Head of the Council?"

"Yeah, but we like head librarian better. Though, HeCon has a ring to it. It's very spandex."

"Bet Rupes likes that."

Xander grinned. "Of course not. Why would we call him something he prefers, which is Giles, by the way."

"'Cause it's polite."

"Like you do polite."

Spike looked all wet cat offended. "Can so! My mum brought me up proper."

"Well, I haven't seen mu—" 

The phone rang, shutting him up. Xander reached for it, but Spike snatched it out of his hand and snarled, "What?"

Whatever whoever said had Spike wearing his bored face, the one that was dangerous because he was playing power games and power games usually ended in someone's head getting ripped off, and that someone was never Spike.

"Wanker." Spike sat on the bed, forcing Xander to scoot over with an indignant squawk. 

Xander tried to scootch up and stick his ear to the side of the receiver so he could hear Gibbs, too, but Spike pushed him away.

"'s not polite to have meetings in the middle of a vamp's night." Yeah, trust Spike to rub the vampire in someone's face, especially if they were uncomfy with the thoughts of vampness.

After a moment of the tinny sound of someone's voice over the speaker, which Xander couldn't make out at all, Spike sighed elaborately. "Fine, then. 8 am. Bring 'im here. I'll have a bit of brekkie while we wait, yeah?"

Whatever Gibbs said had Spike's eyes turning yellow.

"Eat anyone I please, tosser. I don't take orders from you or any other hopped up bully boy."

More Spike unhappies, but the vampiness retreated.

"Piss off," Spike said, and then hung up.

"Well?"

"They'll bring the tosser here at 8, pet. I've a call to make; you'll have to play errand boy to fetch it. Shop's not too far. You'll be able to pick it up and yourself some brekkie on the way back."

"Fetch what?"

"Charm." Spike tapped in a phone number on a cell phone. "Hello, luv. 'S Spike."

Xander heaved himself up and got himself completely dressed, meaning he put on his shoes, while Spike flirted and charmed whoever he was talking to.

"I'll send my boy right down, luv. Slayer's Knight." Spike said. "Thank you, luv."

There was a moment of chatter and then Spike hung up. He ignored the pouting and sulking that Xander was doing with a lot of amusement and some affection. The whole hair ruffling like Xander was an extra furry Golden Retriever thing got a bit annoying, even though he had to admit it felt really, really good.

Xander took Spike's directions and grumbled about going to the magic shop of this mysterious "luv" for the ordered charm. He stuck his wallet in his pocket and snagged his keys. The collar was on the dresser next to them. He stuck his keys in a front pocket and snatched up the collar. Spike, who had been playing the big fat faker lounging around without moving and pretending he didn't care in his throne chair, stiffened up enough for Xander to hear it. Okay, there was some breathing going on over there now. And put that in the victory column for the Xanman! He made Spike breathe without doing sex things _or_ picking at him until he blew up with nonsensical Britishisms all over the place. Thinking of the hair ruffling, Xander smiled and pulled the collar on. Sure, he felt even more like a Golden Retriever, but that didn't matter. Spike had gotten this for him personally, and with way more pickiness than something like this needed. Xander peeked out of the corner of his eye. Spike was looking at him and smiling, too. He looked, just, _wow_ with that smile. Not sexy, well not unsexy, but beautiful. And tender and gentle and very, very Tara looking at Willow which was way weird considering that Tara's most violent thought ever had been that she should hide and Spike's most violent thought ever was pretty gosh darned violent.

Xander whistled cheerfully all the way to the car. Operation Woo Spike and Make Him My Vampire Honey was going great.

He would have kept whistling, but the car reminded him that he was off to meet this "luv" that Spike flirted with like he hadn't figured out that he was Xander's Vampire Honey and not a Free Agent Vampire Honey. Xander called Spike names under his breath all the way to the shop. And whoever Spike felt the need to flirt with like he didn't flirt with Xander and he hadn't been flirty with Buffy, though he had flirted with Buffy by showing off his demon fighting skills and bringing her presents in a creepy way rather than being charming and all of that like he had been all charming with that "luv" person. He parked the car and stomped to the magic shop's door, scaring off innocent bystanders. One-eyed men with eye-patches can develop some serious scare for a human, he'd discovered in the past few years.

Turned out that "luv" had been around when Spike was still alive. Well, at least she looked like it if she hadn't. Xander hadn't seen anything that gnarled since some of the stunted acacia trees on the savannah. He was as nice to her as he could possibly be, of course, because well, witch here. They could get mean if they wanted. She explained how the charm worked—a no violence charm, handy—what he, personally, had to do to make it work in their room. Apparently, it was a human charm and it could only work with some human habitation. Xander's duffel being parked over night was apparently enough to establish human habitation, despite the presence of another room key in its pocket.

He did get a box of donuts on the way back to the hotel. And he was not sharing. Maybe one for Spike, but the navy guys could bring their own. His donut boy days were over.


	7. Chapter Seven

Spike was napping when he returned. He glared at the vamp blinking sleepily at him—a total fake, Spike was loaded for bear—and put the charm above the lintel, well, the top of the door, and spoke the magic words.

"Perfect, thanks, pet."

"Yeah, yeah. Wanna donut?"

Spike accepted the raspberry jelly that Xander had gotten specifically for him, and settled in to watch Xander mow through the rest of the box.

"What's the plan, pet?" Spike asked when Xander's last donut crumb was gone.

Xander blinked. "Huh?"

"Military gits will be here soon. What's the plan?"

"Um. Talk, I guess. Not give them what they want unless it suits us most. I dunno, think we can use military backup in LA?"

Spike instantly shook his head, then stopped, tilted it, and looked thoughtful.

Xander could totally sympathize what with watching the chip go off in Spike's head and seeing the inside of the Initiative—this way led to dissection types of torture—and being a generally sympathetic guy. Okay, so Spike had once explained that it felt like getting kicked in the nuts by a jackhammer. Any guy could sympathize. Military was, well, hard to tell. "Hard question. Yeah, the numbers and firepower could be handy, but they wouldn't be really effective against anyone. We could maybe get Riley's people there. They at least know how to deal with demons and won't have to waste time getting over the fact that demons exist before being of any real use."

"Toy soldier might not be of much use, but he'd make good cannon fodder. Yeah, if these gits behave, might ask Captain Cardboard's people off 'em."

"Other than that, stonewall them?"

"Sounds good, pet."

"And no show and tell unless you want to. You're not a toy."

Spike half-smirked. "Well, should be here soon. Be a luv and pick up a bit, yeah? Don't need 'em to see our unmentionables."

"So not a pet. Pick your own stuff up, fang face."

Spike huffed, complained, and made leering remarks about Xander's backside, but didn’t actually have much to pick up. Just his duster and Docs, actually. Xander, though. It took him about twenty minutes to get all of his scattered stuff back into the duffle bag.

Spike was gnawing on a blood bag when a knock came on the door. Spike arched his eye brows, but made no move to put the blood down, let alone get up from his throne chair to get the door. Xander heaved a put upon sigh and went to let his visitors in. Gibbs came in first, followed by some guy Xander didn't know, and then DiNozzo. A couple of people in black suits wandered the hallway, trying to look inconspicuous. Impossible. Xander rolled his eye and shut the door.

"Harris, this is Secretary Davenport. Secretary, this is Alexander Harris and," Gibbs pause to grimace at Spike, "Spike."

"Mr. Harris, Mr. Spike," Davenport said. He stared with an interesting combination of look at the cool new thing and grossed out. A wiggins without the wigging.

Spike sneered. Which was really kind of yuck considering the blood he let drip from a fang. Okay, yuck if you weren't a Scooby, who were all pretty much used to these kinds of things. They faked the grossed out for Spike at the end of Sunnydale. Probably nerve wracking if you were a civilian who wasn't. Davenport looked a bit of scared and a bit of creeped out and totally did not look at Spike again. As if Spike was ignorable or something, even when he wanted to be ignored. Gibbs was working the poker face and DiNozzo just looked fascinated, okay fascinated and yucked.

Xander flopped into the chair across the table from Spike and waved at the beds. DiNozzo took up a position near the little hallway thing. Davenport sat on the bed near them and Gibbs stood beside him, arms crossed. "So," Xander said, "talk."

Davenport stared at Xander for a few minutes, kind of like Mrs. French of the low cut blouse and the praying mantis insides from high school had once stared at him. Only without the let's get it on, you hot hunk of virgin sacrifice vibeage.

Spike had his bored face on. Xander decided he couldn't pull that off, so he kind of half smirked and stared right back at Davenport with more of a yeah, I didn't do my homework and you can't make me feel guilty about it face than the whole I can so kick your ass attitude face. Someday, he'd so have a kick your ass attitude face, once he worked on it a lot more, but for now, insolence had to do.

"Is Commander Wilder is the only business that brings you to DC?" Davenport took the I'm in charge of this here cattle drive tone. 

Spike sneered for a moment, then went back to bored now face. Apparently, it was up to Xander to the actual driving of this here cattle drive. "Visiting friends and all that stuff. You know how it is. You blow into town and everyone wants you over for meatloaf." Xander scratched his chin. "Gotta be careful. Never know when you're the meatloaf."

"Anything we should be worried about?"

"Not unless you like to wander around cemeteries in the middle of the night."

DiNozzo looked amused now. He'd turned away from Spike to watch the show, apparently. Gibbs kept his poker face firmly plastered on. But it was cracking a little around the edges.

Davenport smiled faintly. "Can't say as I've ever had the urge. So, in your expert opinion, no sub-terrestrial threats are brewing?"

"Had some coffee in a bar last night." Xander shuddered theatrically. "If that wasn't a threat brewed by a demon, I have no idea what could be."

Davenport quirked half of his smile up a bit further. "I see, Mr. Harris. We've been keeping an eye on the local sub-terrestrial population for any incursions into human areas." So, straight to business with no polite messing around. Davenport cleared his throat noisily. "Of course, one has apparently slipped in, under the radar. A homunculus, correct?"

The empty blood bag flopped onto the table, bits of left over breakfast oozing from two neat fang-holes and coagulating on the really expensive oak top. Spike's eyes narrowed. Xander didn't have to be looking at him to know that Spike had switched into Danger-Vamp mode. He could totally feel the waves of Danger-Vamp radiating like nuclear something or other. Xander tilted his head, enough of a movement to distract any sharp-eyed federales from looking too closely at Spike. "Yup."

Davenport smiled. It wasn't a nice, let's be friends smile. More of a you're a kid and in my way but I'll put up with you because you're the means I'm using to get to the end I want smile. "And you want this homunculus." 

It took Xander a moment to realize that Davenport wasn't actually talking to Spike about the homunculus, but to Xander, which made absolutely no real sense because Xander didn't care about the fake thing in the jail cell. It could be dealt with later, after a few more apocalypses had been dealt with. Xander didn't have to wonder why. Giles had once told him that people, especially the decision makers with power, liked to think of demons as animals, and therefore would not speak to them. Nothing like getting a demon's considered opinion to shatter the dumb-animal-daydream they had going on. There was a whole bunch about power structures and shifting power something or others that Xander had tuned out. It kind of came down to the fact that simply by being something that preyed exclusively on people, vampires had more power than even the most powerful dude on the planet. Though Xander did think that Clint Eastwood could take the average vamp out without even having to unsquint. But Davenport here, he obviously thought he was some kind of big boss, so therefore, pretend the guy with the most power in the room was some kind of attack dog, and therefore not worth the time. Therefore.

Spike kicked him under the table. Davenport was no longer smiling.

Xander smirked because he didn't want to give up the cool guy image for the goof guy image. "So, your leading question would be?"

Gibbs frowned.

Davenport looked all hardcore, hoorah, Clint Eastwood as a marine for a moment. "I can make the thing's trial go away."

Xander ended up raising both eyebrows, despite the lack of panache that had, whatever panache was, that raising one eyebrow had. "Really? So have at it."

"It's not that simple, Mr. Harris." Davenport said. Xander didn't like the tone of the _Mr. Harris_. it was like when Captain Picard was giving orders to Wesley Crusher when Wesley was in trouble. Davenport settled a bit in his seat on the bed. "The wheels of justice are in motion. Altering a trial on a criminal matter, or any matter, is difficult because due process is important. It would compromise not only my ethics, but the ethics of the entire navy. We take ethics seriously."

Spike snorted.

"I call bullshit on that one," Xander muttered.

Davenport lifted his eyebrows—ha! a fellow non-one-eyebrow lifter!—but apparently decided to pretend he hadn't heard that. DiNozzo was trying not to grin and Gibbs looked like he was going to choke.

"So. I think he's up to something," Xander said conversationally, looking at Davenport. "Whattya think?"

Davenport frowned. "The homunculus would be, by its very nature, wouldn't it?"

"Think you're right, pet," Spike said. Xander could hear the smirky, sexy Spike face in the smooth, growly, I can kick your ass and we all know it tone. "Question is, does the berk have the knackers?"

"Eww! Old guy! No mentioning of old guy knackers!"

Spike chuckled. Again with the smirky, sexy, smoothy, growly Spikeness.

Davenport was no longer frowning. His face smoothed into a mask of, um, maskiness. 

Xander put on his straight face. "We're pretty much familiar with the carroting and the sticking strategy. It never really worked on Spike anyway. Try to tell him that you'll untie him from the barcalounger if he promises not to eat you and he says you'd taste like kippers and bits anyway." Xander glowered at Spike. "Totally a nummy treat here, fang face." He turned back to Davenport. "So, you can quit with the dangling of the homunculus and get on with the general threats and or blackmail."

"I have no intention of threatening or blackmailing you." Davenport did a pretty good job of working the offended and incensed face. Though why anyone would have an incense face, Xander didn't know. 

He smiled brightly with lots of teeth, which Davenport didn't seem to see as anything but some kid goofing around. "Well great! We've got a Sex Pistols tribute band to hunt down, so we'll drop by in say, a month? Yeah, a month, for some quality time with the homunculus. Nice meeting ya, and all of that, but we've got to go buy fanpunk gear. So, don't let the door hit ya on the way out."

Davenport cleared his throat. "Not so fast, young man."

Xander crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. "Oh, you did not just go there."

Davenport shifted from sincere if offended to the disappointed in young people in general and you in particular face. "I, er, apologize, Mr. Harris. I didn't mean to be insulting."

Xander waved a get-on-with-it hand.

"The Department of the Navy takes ethics very seriously. We also take the security of our nation very seriously; not just from foreign, human enemies, but also from the threats our people face from the sub-terrestrial population." Davenport's eyes flicked toward Spike and his skin got all corpse pale for a moment. Spike must have flashed some fang. Davenport went back to looking at Xander earnestly, like the Richard Wilkins the Third during campaign season. "We recognize the terrible mistake that the Initiative was and we won't repeat it. We've learned and moved on. However, that doesn't change the facts. There are sub-terrestrial dangers and we have to do something about it."

"Well, that's simple enough. Leave it to the professionals and stick to navy-ing."

"We can't do that. As you know from your recent conversation with Major Finn, we've been dealing with the non-human threat ourselves for years. We aren't recreating the Initiative, but we do have teams tasked with hunting down hostile sub-terrestrials. Of course, we lack the training and resources you have, thanks to your position with the Watcher's Council, so we've had issues with the mission. Aside from vampires, which we can detect with specialized equipment, we have trouble differentiating between humans and human-looking sub-terrestrials."

This guy was making Xander's teeth ache and he didn't eat people. Spike was ready for sainthood for just sitting there and looking all Spikey and bored to tears. Xander forced himself not to do something stupid. At least not yet. "First of all, that whole Nazi phraseology you have going on here, that _sub-terrestrials_ ," complete with air quotes, "is just stupid. Kind of like calling all demons, demons. Some are just your average Joe Tentacle trying to keep the hatchlings fed and ready for college. Some are all horns and fangs and let's snack on human lunchables. Calling them demons makes people afraid of them because everyone knows demons are evil when really, a lot of them aren't. Calling them sub-terrestrials makes people think they're nothing but animals, and therefore humans can do whatever they want to them and it'll be okay. Dumb idea. Second of all, you can't manage demons the way you do stray dogs. I know you're all military power guy, but that doesn’t make you the boss of everyone. A lot of demons are taxpayers and don't break any laws, human or their own."

Spike kept the bored face on, but Xander could see the grin in the set of the eyebrows.

"I see." Geez, was that all this guy could say? "You should understand our concerns about these, er, non-human citizens of our fair nation, Mr. Harris. Some of them are evil. Some aren't evil, but they are prone to violence, destruction, and disruption. Washington is the seat of power in the US. Having demons causing problems beyond the scope of breaking a human law or two is something we must stop. Nip trouble in the bud."

Xander thought about that. He shrugged because yeah, the guy had a point; but, no, that way lead to things like the Initiative and stupid soldiers getting killed. 

"I'm personally concerned. You are currently the only expert we have on American soil. I assume you'll be leaving soon, either back to Africa or to join your friends in London." Pulling the old see what kind of info I have on you trick was so two decades ago Jason Bourne. Maybe. Xander had never seen the movie. 

"I'm not the only expert. There are a bunch running around. You people just call them crazy and stick them in institutions around here."

Davenport smiled, then. "Demon hunters and witches with the odd mythology professor. While these are resources we could tap in an emergency, they aren't quite like a Council trained resource. You and your people have a depth of knowledge unavailable anywhere else in the world. You not only research and understand demons, but you know how to deal with them, both to stop them from causing trouble and to negotiate to keep them peaceful and quiet."

Spike eyed Davenport like Spike was a cat and Davenport was a particularly smelly piece of spoiled tuna. "What's your point, tosser?"

"Frankly, we'd like to discuss moving the Watcher's Council here, to Washington, or some other location on American soil, if you prefer. We can offer many resources that your organization may have problems securing, such as a variety of weapons, transportation, a base of operations without fees, training grounds, access to military instruction for individual and group tactics. If moving the full Council isn't possible, then opening a branch locally to liaise with our people. We have large grounds at Quantico and we can construct whatever you need."

Xander tried not to frown. "Well, yeah, thanks but no thanks. You people created the Initiative."

"We've learned from that mistake and we don't intend to repeat it. We'd rather join forces with the Council to control the bad elements in the demon population."

"Still, no."

Davenport said nothing for a moment. Then he smiled in one of those fakish sympathy let's be buddies ways. "One of the resources we have that you can't get from London is our international assets. We have embassies and diplomats in nearly every nation on the planet. You've been bringing young women to London from all over the world. We can facilitate your efforts. Rather than fight local and British bureaucracy to move these young ladies from their home nation, you would simply bring them to a US embassy where we would arrange for all of the documents and for transportation. In hostile nations, this would be ideal for you group because we would offer not only refuge, but an easy way to leave areas with active hostile forces or hostile ideologies."

Now that was tempting. Getting girls barely starting puberty out of some countries was harder than getting Buffy to quit shopping. But, no. The government having any kind of control over slayers, even if it's just opening up an embassy to them for a few hours, was a Very Bad Idea. Maybe it was paranoid much, but paranoid paid off.

"I'll talk to the Bossman," Xander said with a shrug. "But I can tell you that the answer will be no."

Davenport settled back a bit and looked perfectly comfortable. "We'd like to send a liaison to negotiate for us. While you can present our offer plainly, a liaison would be in a position to negotiate the offer to make it mutually beneficial."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen. No military wankers allowed."

Davenport apparently didn't get it. "I thought we'd send Major Riley Finn. You are familiar with him and his work. He understands demons and your group. We'd be willing to send him to London with you when you leave."

Xander blinked for a moment. That could work. "Well. We can do an apocalypse test."

Gibbs frowned. DiNozzo looked confused and unhappy. Davenport frowned. "A what?"

Xander shrugged an it's no big shrug. "It's apocalypse season and we've got a pretty big one coming up. Send Riley and his entire unit in as backup and we'll see how well we all work together. Uh, no green troops at all. If they haven't faced a demon and gotten over the whole eek! demons don't exist! I'm having an existential breakdown—"

"Do you even know what existential means, luv?" Spike interjected.

"No comments from the peanut gallery. Anyway, we'll do a test thing. See if they help or get in the way. See how the government deals with an apocalypse they didn't actually start."

Davenport frowned more. "We don't start apocalypses."

"Adam," Xander said, getting his smug on.

"That hardly qualifies as an apocalypse, Mr. Harris."

Spike barked out a laugh. "'Course not. My boy and his gang stopped it before it could properly get started. Adam was building his own clockworks. He would have had quite the zombie army if my boy and his friends hadn't stopped him. Walsh's dolly would likely would be in possession of most of the US by now."

Davenport frowned even more, if that were possible. "I read the reports."

"So you know that you built him, then you gave him the parts he needed to create an army, and there was no way you could stop him." Xander grinned. "Knowing is half the battle sometimes."

"That was not what we intended with the Initiative."

Xander shrugged. "Road to one of the hell dimensions is paved with good intentions."

" _One_ of the hell dimensions?" DiNozzo said, but not very loud so everyone ignored him.

Davenport nodded gravely. But not like the Peter Graves in Airplane! gravely. More like librarian Giles being told that Buffy needed to go on a date once in a while rather than patrol all of the time because, frankly, it was bad for her development as a teenager as well as her self-esteem gravely. "I can understand your concerns."

"So do we get Riley and his group or not?"

Davenport relaxed his frown. "Very well. When and where?"

Xander suddenly felt a bit more relief. "Soon as possible in LA. Tell him to go see Angel. Riley knows where."

"Angel? The stripper guy with the law firm?" This time, DiNozzo wasn't ignored.

"Stripper?" Spike sounded offended, then smirked. "Pouf'll love that."

Xander ignored them both. "Yeah, yeah. Um, will Riley have access to an armory for some shopping? We don't know what kind of weapons we could use until we've been there to assess the situation."

Davenport nodded decisively. "I'll see to it personally."

"Well good. If we survive the apocalypse, then Riley can come visit London and talk to the Council about doing something here. No promises, but you know how it goes. All it takes is one corrupt politician and suddenly you've got a 60 foot Olkivan snake demon roaming around eating principals and planning on noshing on the student body."

Davenport's eyebrows went up. "Another apocalypse?"

"Yup."

"What happens if you don't stop an apocalypse in time?" Gibbs suddenly asked.

Xander tilted his head. "Well, sometimes, like with the politician turned snake demon, the fallout would be kind of small. He'd probably have just taken over a sizeable chunk of North America and made that hell on earth while everyone else got to go about their business. With the one involving a certain nutjob vampire with a hair care product fetish and his boulder with a mouth, the whole world would have been sucked into a hell dimension, so that would have sucked for everyone."

The three navy guys did not look pleased to hear that.

Xander did his best class clown grin. "But we tend to stop them so no big."

"What about this one, in LA?" Davenport asked.

Xander shrugged. "Haven't assessed it, but we're taking on group of demons that have ruled hell dimensions for a while, so it's gonna be a pain to stop, but we'll stop it."

"And if you don't?"

"To paraphrase a wise philosopher, do, there is no do not."

Davenport was back to frowning again. "What are your contingency plans, in case you fail?"

Xander shrugged again. "Hope we all die because it will suck otherwise."

"I can authorize an air strike, if it becomes necessary."

Spike scoffed. "Idiot. Sometimes bombs will work on demons. Most times, it'll just make them stronger."

Davenport's frown got worse. "I can authorize a nuclear strike."

Xander rolled his eye. "And what part of most times they just get stronger did you not understand? I'm thinking that you can keep Riley and his people. We'll be better off without you."

"Major Finn and his teams have been successfully hunting demons for several years."

"Riley and his doofus squad have been taking out fyarl and vampire. It's like beating up fifth graders for their lunch money."

Spike poked him in the ribs. "Oi!" 

Xander rolled his eye. "Baby vampires. Legendary master vampires, like Spike here, would obviously put an apocalypse of even the epicest of epic proportions to shame."

Spike poked him again. "Don't take the piss, pet. You lot never beat me."

"Parent teacher night. Joyce. Axe." Xander smirked at Spike. "Ring any bells, ADHD vamp? How about the gem, Buffy, middle of the day, Sunnydale U?"

" _You_ never beat me, boy."

Xander grinned. "No, but I did get to tie you to my barcalounger."

"Nit."

"Git."

"Enough!" Gibbs bellowed. "You're worse than children!"

"Righty-o, old man. Only as old as you act." Spike smirked his most irritating smirk.

Davenport stood up. "I'll have Major Finn and his teams heading directly for L.A. within the hour. He will make his reports directly to me. Once this…incident is dealt with, he'll return to D.C. to debrief, and then to Council headquarters in London where he will present our proposal. If you would be so kind as to give Major Finn the help he needs to be successful, your nation would appreciate it."

DiNozzo shifted his weight. "Least that way, you can keep an eye on things."

Davenport frowned at DiNozzo, then turned back to Xander. "However this works out, Major Finn will bring the homunculus to London to present to the Council. I trust that you will take care of it in the most appropriate and most humane manner possible."

"Appropriate, yeah. We'll probably stick it in a room with Spike and some rail road spikes. He's got some issues to work out. Psychotherapy doesn't always take with vampires." Xander nodded to himself decisively. "So yeah, humane, too."

"Humane for the homunculus," Davenport said. "It may not be human, but it certainly behaves that way."

Xander felt suddenly sad. "Yeah, unfortunately it does. Just goes to show how crappy human beings with the souls and the consciences and the milk of human kindness can get about the way they treat others."

Davenport apparently didn't like that. "Yes, well. It's been an honor meeting you, Mr. Harris."

Xander wanted to call bullshit again, but went for diplomatic, instead. "I'd say the same, but well, military wanker and all that."

"I understand." His eyes flicked toward Spike for a moment. "It may not seem that way, Mr. Harris, but I do understand." Davenport squared his shoulders and faced Spike. "Mr. Spike, I know that it'll never be enough, but my sincerest apologies for what the Initiative did to you. I will see to it that it doesn't happen again."

Spike sneered and stood up. Davenport and Gibbs tensed. DiNozzo leaned back, looking unhappy. Spike stared Davenport down. "You're used to playing politics, crying a pretty mea culpa for the cameras whenever you lot are caught with your pants around your ankles. Me. My boy. We see right through you." Spike moved like only a really old and really smart vamp can, suddenly in Davenport's personal space. Davenport sucked in a breath so hard, he choked. Gibbs' gun was out and, just as fast, ripped from his hands and tossed to Xander, who totally only manage to catch the thing with a few yelps and some serious fumbling. He gritted his teeth and fought the compulsion to drop it only by gently placing it on the table, pointing away. How in the hell had Gibbs managed to pull it with the no violence charm in place?

Spike flicked the US flag pin on Davenport's lapel. Davenport grunted and the pin went flying into the wall. Vamp strength and power was too sexy when Spike was using it. Spike smirked. "You trot out your words of patriotism and draw your border lines in the sand with your toy soldiers. My boy and his lot may be human. May have nationalities, visas, and passports. My boy and his lot, though, they know of no nation. The only nation they know is the world. Your petty bickering with Mossulmans and the Chinese don't matter. You'll try to wield my boy and his lot like weapons for your power games. Call it things like national security and wrap it in pretty bows of heroism." Spike gestured toward Xander. "My boy don't see nationality and never will. Never think twice about who is the enemy and who is not. You do. You think you can control the Council, can make decisions about which nations gain protection from demons." Spike scoffed and dropped into his throne-chair with all of the grace of a master vampire with more attitude than caring. "My boy sees you. Never think he won't."

Xander was busting his buttons, whatever that meant, and trying really hard not to let the inner Snoopy dance show. He smiled as benignly as possible at Davenport, who was looking pretty danged shell-shocked and not doing so good of a job at hiding it. Spike was very good at doing that to the non-Scoobies of the world.

Davenport opened his mouth.

"It's time for you to leave," Xander said. "Now."

Davenport's mouth slapped shut and he looked pissy. American pissy, not British pissy, which would be kind of funny right now, to have him look British pissy because he had that too important for you kind of attitude that a good round at the local pub while Man U was kicking ass and taking names would so fix.

Davenport took a deep breath. "Consider what's on offer, Mr. Harris." He nodded at Gibbs and DiNozzo, then left.

Gibbs glared at Xander. "Apocalypse?"

"Hell dimensions?" DiNozzo chimed in.

Xander shrugged. "You say insurgency, we say apocalypse. You have more bullets, we have more horns and slime."

Spike stood up and poked Xander. "Time to go, luv."

Xander did his best to stare piercingly into Gibbs' eyes. "Keep an eye on that guy. The Initiative starts back up again, we'll have an apocalypse on our hands that we can't stop." Xander shrugged. "Maybe won't stop."

Gibbs's lips scrunched into a white line. "Politicians." He said that in the same way Cordy used to say Wal-mart. Gibbs lifted his chin. "If one of your apocalypses comes my way, look me up."

Xander grinned. "Might do that."

"That was an order."

Spike tossed a duffel at Xander and scoffed yet again. "Boy wouldn't know how to follow an order if you turned it into a comic." He bared his teeth at Gibbs and then DiNozzo. "Wanker. Minion."

"Leave him at home," Gibbs added with a chin point in Spike's direction. "DiNozzo!"

With that, Gibbs marched out of the room. DiNozzo pulled a hey we're cool, and jeez you're weird half-apology, half-smirky face, then followed.

"Well, Spike?"

"Well what?"

Xander grinned. "I did good and you know it."

Spike whacked him in the back of the head. "You had no idea what you were doing, lackbrain."

"Of course I did! I'm the One Who Sees!"

Spike shouldered his bag and paused on his way out of the door long enough to glare at Xander. "You see the truth of people, pet, not the future."

Xander shrugged. "Well, it did all work out in the end."

Spike smiled, a bit. "Yeah, pet, it did."

Xander smiled, too, feeling pleasure from the compliment, yeah, but mostly from the Spike smile. Hot, sexy, and sweet!

"Now, if we survive L.A. as you've planned, I'll let you touch me bits."

Xander rolled his eye and followed Spike down the hallway. "Gee _thanks_. Whatever would I do for such a reward?"

Spike laughed, grabbed Xander by the hand and took him down to the waiting limo. Not quite riding off into the sunset, even if they were heading west, because it was all early morning and stuff. But riding off into the apocalypse with a sexy, snarky demon? That was totally Xander's style.

*****

Spike grinned, running his tongue over his blunted, human teeth. He scraped his nails gently along the inside of his boy's wrist, raising a path of goosebumps and the musky-sweet scent of an interested Xander. His boy shivered.

Oh, the irony. The chip Angelman had stuck in his head all those years ago had been one of the best things that had ever happened to him, though he'd never admit that to anyone. It had been bloody awful at the time, but the rewards. He'd found something to unlive for beyond himself. He found the fight. He found the Slayer. Love her for a while, he did. Still loved her, if the truth were to be told to its fullest. Found his soul and saved the world.

He, Spike, had beaten the First Evil. He had defeated the most powerful force of darkness in existence. He'd become a force that other demons cowered before simply because he'd loved a girl and cared for her friends and family. Ironic, that. Love's Bitch, perhaps, but also Love's Vengeance? No, that was the wrong word. Sword? He fancied himself as a nice katana for a mo', like the one that Blade bloke carried in the films. Whatever he was to Love, it was a brilliant piece of work. One that would never be replicated.

And Love had come through for him. He'd been adrift for a while, unsure if he should abandon Angelus to his idiocy in L.A., but equally unsure if he should venture back into the Scooby fold. In the end, he stayed in L.A. because Angelus did need him, far more than the Slayer and her family did. This thing with the lawyers was but more proof. And yet here he was, settling into a limo to whisk him back toward the fight with the most unlikeliest of lovers at his side. While he'd admired the boy's loyalty, determination, and his lovely, laborer's form back in Sunnyhell, he hadn't cared much for the boy's dogged persistence in playing the idiot nor the boy's persistence in irritating him. Yet, here he was. The boy's loyalty was his now. The form was as lovely, that laborer's strength honed by years of seeking slayers at the odds and ends of the earth.

Spike had beaten the First Evil because of the love he felt for a girl that hadn't, and never would, love him back. What could he do now that he had the love of a boy who loved so powerfully it would bring the angels down from heaven to weep at a demon's feet?

He settled into his seat, the warmth of his boy pressed against his side and seeping into his bones, and laced their fingers together.

He would fall in love with his boy, quickly, deeply, and powerfully. And together, they would shape the world in poetry with the strength of that love. He closed his eyes and smiled. With his boy at his side, the Senior Partners had less a chance than a kitten on a poker table. And if Spike could beat the Senior Partners for his boy instead of the pouf mucking about, well that would just be a bit of all right.

The End


End file.
